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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


OH,  WHAT  A  PLAGUE  IS  LOVE ! 


Oh, 

What  a  Plague  is  Love! 


BY 

KATHARINE    TYNAN 

m(Mrs.  H.   A.  Hinkson) 

AUTHOR    OF    'THE    DEAR    IRISH    GIRL,'     '  THE    HANDSOME     BRANDONS,' 
4  SHE    WALKS    IN    BEAUTY,'    ETC. 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  M'CLURG  &  CO. 

1900 


479o 

H3  *- 


CHAPTER   I 

Charles  Frederick  Marmaduke 
Strangways,  commonly  called  '  Duke  '  by 
his  friends,  had  been  for  years  a  cause  of 
anxiety  to  his  steady-going,  irreproachable 
family.  There  had  been  many  times  when 
one  or  other  of  his  sons  or  daughters, 
in  a  fit  of  discouragement,  had  declared 
wearily  that  they  despaired  of  his  ever 
settling  down  ;  and  indeed  Duke  was  in- 
curably erratic.  Men  who  had  been  his 
contemporaries  pottered  about  their  gardens 
in  summer,  and  were  content  with  the  easy- 
chair  by  the  chimney-nook  in  winter.  They 
were  grandfathers  long  since,  but  Duke's 
children  gave  no  sign  of  making  him  a 
grandfather.  Handsome  Miss  Frances  was 
a  confirmed  spinster ;  Sophia  was  tending 
the  same  way  ;  and  people  often  wondered 

i  i 


■ 

■ 

LIBRARY 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


if  charming  milkmaid  Dolly  would  also 
shut  up  her  roses  and  wither  quietly  on  her 
stalk.  Duke's  children  laid  this  celibacy 
to  his  account.  They  were  so  busy  un- 
ravelling the  tangles  of  their  father's  love 
affairs  that  they  had  had  no  time  for  any  of 
their  own. 

There  was  nothing  senile  or  undignified 
about  Duke's  affairs  of  the  heart.  He 
usually  paid  his  attentions  where  they  were 
heartily  welcome,  for  Duke  had  *  a  way 
with  him.'  He  had  a  cherubic  youthful- 
ness  and  innocence  of  aspect.  The  bloom 
of  his  cheeks  owed  nothing  to  the  rouge- 
pot.  His  soft  silvery  hair  was  quite 
beautiful  ;  and  though  he  was  careful  about 
his  dress,  he  never  suggested  the  old  beau. 
Duke  had  not  led  an  open-air  life  for  nothing, 
and  he  walked  very  nearly  as  erect  and  as 
steadily  as  one  of  his  own  boys. 

His  daughters  had  somewhere  at  the 
back  of  their  minds  a  sneaking  sympathy 
with  the  many  women  of  all  ages  who  had 
found  Duke  irresistible.  The  truth  was 
that  the  old  fellow  was  so  thoughtful,  so 
tender,  so  gentle  of  heart,  that  he  appealed 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


strongly  to  women.  He  never  seemed  to 
feel  that  a  woman  was  plain-looking  or  past 
her  charming  prime.  His  compliments 
brightened  as  many  faded  cheeks  as  damask 
ones,  and  he  was  as  ready  with  his  chival- 
rous little  cares  for  the  most  neglected  old 
spinster  as  for  the  regal  young  beauty. 

Friends  of  the  Strangways  family  often 
wondered  the  girls  did  not  let  him  go  his 
way  and  give  them  a  stepmother.  Often 
enough  worldly  wisdom  would  have  dictated 
this  course.  There  was  Mrs.  Mellor  at 
the  Pines,  who  any  time  these  last  ten 
years  woujd  gladly  have  taken  Duke  off 
their  hands.  The  late  Mr.  Mellor  had 
been  something  of  a  brute,  but  he  had  left 
his  widow  comfortably  provided  for,  and 
she  was  a  dear  woman  all  her  friends  said. 
She  did  not  even  resent  the  resolute  de- 
termination of  Duke's  daughters  not  to 
have  her  for  a  stepmother.  Her  little 
brougham  was  as  much  at  their  disposal 
as  ever;  she  was  as  willing  to  be  their 
chaperone  to  country  balls  and  town  gaieties 
as  at  any  time  within  the  last  ten  years. 

It  was  too  bad,  said  the  neighbourhood, 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

that  those  blind  girls  would  insist  on  stand- 
ing in  their  own  light  and  everybody  else's 
in  the  matter  of  Mrs.  Mellor. 

The  truth  was  that  Duke's  daughters 
had  a  queer  conscience  of  their  own  about 
their  father's  re -marrying.  Frances  led  the 
way  in  this,  and  the  others  followed. 

'  You  are,  of  course,  a  miracle  of  fresh- 
ness and  activity,  dear  dad,'  she  would  say 
to  poor  Duke.  '  But  you  aren't  young, 
dear,  and  it  must  be  our  duty  to  care  for 
your  old  age.  Mrs.  Mellor  might  be 
almost  your  daughter,  and  she  had  much 
better  take  Sir  James  Simmons,  whom  she 
would  have  taken  long  ago  if  you  had  let 
her  alone.  You  mustn't  make  the  dear 
woman  a  nurse  for  your  old  age,  dad.' 

Duke  always  winced  at  such  speeches  ; 
and  it  was  noticeable  that  his  youngest 
daughter,  Dolly,  would  at  his  wincing  run 
and  take  his  slender  old  hand  in  hers  and 
rub  it  energetically  against  her  rose-bud 
cheek.  Yet  Dolly  was  as  strong  as  Frances 
in  opposing  his  matrimonial  designs. 

His  daughters  all  felt  the  pain  of  op- 
posing him.     Duke  had  a  way  of  coming 

4 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

home  radiant  with  each  new  affair  of  the 
heart,  and  quite  certain  that  now  the  dear 
girls  would  think  he  had  done  well.  He 
explained  away  to  himself  with  a  persistent 
cheerfulness  their  opposition  in  the  past. 
He  invented  this  or  that  reason  for  it, 
always  blinking  his  innocent  old  eyes  at 
those  painful  speeches  about  his  increasing 
years.  Discouragement  after  discourage- 
ment did  not  prepare  him  the  least  bit 
in  the  world  for  future  reverses.  His 
daughters  grumbled  over  the  trials  he  put 
them  through  in  forcing  them  to  deny  him 
aught  he^so  much  coveted  as  a  wife. 
Anything  short  of  that  they  would  have 
given  him,  for  they  loved  him  dearly,  and 
the  very  sweetness  with  which  he  allowed 
them  to  forbid  his  banns  but  increased  their 
love. 

Perhaps,  sometimes,  in  the  innermost 
privacy  of  his  heart  Duke  sighed  over  the 
bonds  imposed  by  his  children,  but  their 
years  of  opposition  to  his  re-marriage  did 
not  fray  or  fret  the  strong  ties  of  love 
between  him  and  them.  He  always  parted 
from  them  a  sadder  man,  perhaps,  but  not 

5 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 


a  whit  Jess  loving.  If  there  was  a  tender 
reproach  in  his  kisses  as  he  went  away  from 
Gardenhurst  with  his  latest  Eden  in  ruins 
about  him,  it  was  a  reproach  expressed  no 
other  way.  His  children  always  carried 
their  victories  in  the  end  by  appealing  to 
his  fatherly  love  for  them.  When  they 
joined  in  working  this  tender  lever  Duke 
gave  in. 

'  I  can  only  give  up  what  I  conceive 
would  be  a  happiness  for  me,'  he  had  said 
numberless  times, '  since  it  seems  to  threaten 
the  happiness  of  my  dear  children.' 

After  such  scenes  there  would  be  a  lull 
for  a  time,  and  Gardenhurst  would  settle 
down  to  its  peaceful  avocations,  while  Duke 
solaced  his  wounded  heart  in  Paris  or  at 
some  gay  watering-place. 

Duke  was  the  squire  of  his  Kentish 
village,  but  he  carried  his  squirehood 
lightly.  All  the  serious  duties  he  dele- 
gated to  his  son  Arthur,  who  was  a 
barrister,  and  usually  inhabited  a  set  of 
chambers  in  Pump  Court.  Arthur  and 
the  very  efficient  bailiff,  Mr.  Crosskey, 
kept  things  in  such  trim  that   the   squire 

6 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

could  lead  his  butterfly  life  without  any 
injury  to  his  estate.  The  future  squire, 
Hubert,  was  a  Fellow  of  his  College  at 
Oxford,  and  lived  there  by  preference. 
Hubert  was  a  wise  man  on  various  abstruse 
matters,  but  could  not  tell  wheat  from 
barley,  or  lea  from  fallow  land.  Then 
there  was  Fred,  a  school-boy  at  Eton,  who 
was  a  special  pet  of  Mrs.  Mellor's,  and 
whom  she  delighted  in  spoiling. 

Now,  if  Duke  got  on  badly  with  any 
member  of  his  family,  it  was  Arthur.  The 
'  getting  on  badly  '  was  indeed  only  evinced 
by  a  punctiliousness  in  his  treatment  of  his 
second  son  that  was  absent  from  his  fond 
relations  with  his  other  children.  Duke 
was  never  quite  happy  with  Arthur  in  the 
house,  though  he  went  out  of  his  way  to 
show  the  young  man  deference  and  con- 
sideration whenever  he  put  in  an  appear- 
ance at  Gardenhurst.  On  such  occasions 
Arthur  would  put  his  father  through  the 
most  tiresome  inquisition  about  his  temporal 
affairs,  insisting  on  his  understanding  the 
details  Duke  had  gladly  taken  for  granted, 
and  quite  remorseless  over  holding  him  to 

7 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  I 

that  long  morning's  work  in  the  study,  when 
the  affairs  of  the  estate  were  thoroughly 
gone  into.  Duke  used  to  emerge  from 
these  consultations  tired,  and,  as  far  as  it 
was  in  him  to  be,  irritable. 

But  it  was  not  this  overweening  sense  of 
duty,  as  he  conceived  it,  which  made  the 
fret  with  Duke.  It  was  that  Arthur  never 
seemed  to  take  him  seriously.  Arthur  was 
a  spare,  legal-looking  young  gentleman, 
with  a  great  deal  of  humour  in  the  lines 
about  his  acute  lips,  and  in  the  twinkle  of 
his  eyes.  '  Damn  the  fellow's  humour  !  ' 
Duke  had  said  to  himself  often ;  '  why 
the  devil  should  he  make  me  the  object  of 
it  ? '  And  it  was  too  true  that  Arthur,  out 
of  business  hours,  never  looked  at  his  father 
without  a  quiver  of  the  face  that  suggested 
some  exquisite  joke. 

Poor  Duke  ;  it  was  really  a  trial  to  one 
who,  despite  his  many  love  affairs,  was  still 
quite  dignified.  The  worst  of  it  was  that 
he  could  not  make  a  quarrel  over  it.  The 
laughter  was  there,  latent  but  unexpressed. 
Every  one  felt  it,  yet  it  seemed  too  impal- 
pable to  quarrel  about. 


0/r,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


The  Strangways  were  a  most  devoted 
family.  Yet  over  and  over  one  or  other  of 
his  sisters  had  expressed  in  pretty  forcible 
language  the  irritation  this  attitude  of 
Arthur's  towards  '  the  dad '  caused  them. 
Arthur  often  laughed  at  themselves,  but 
the  laughter  left  no  sting.  Dolly  and 
Arthur  were  great  chums,  but  even  to 
Dolly  it  was  a  little  uncomfortable  when 
her  brother's  home-coming  occurred  while 
her  father  also  was  a  welcome  guest.  For 
it  must  be  confessed  that  Duke  was  so 
nomadic  in  his  habits  that  one  could  never 
quite  feel  that  his  house  was  his  home. 

He  had  a  resting-place  for  the  sole  of 
his  foot  in  most  of  the  pleasant  watering- 
places  in  England.  At  Torquay  and 
Bournemouth,  at  Harrogate  and  Brighton, 
there  were  obsequious  landladies  who 
knew  Mr.  Strangways'  tastes  thoroughly, 
and  who  were  prepared  at  any  time  to 
evict  a  less  popular  tenant  from  the  sea- 
looking  or  southern-aspect  rooms  Duke 
always  occupied.  His  lodgings  were  in- 
deed as  numerous  as  his  love  affairs,  and 
there  were    as    many  landladies  to  declare 

9 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

him  the  perfect  gentleman  as  there  were 
widows  and  spinsters  in  the  world  who 
kept  a  kindly  memory  of  him  in  their 
hearts.  It  was  a  remarkable  thing  that 
Duke  always  escaped  from  his  love  en- 
tanglements with  peace  and  honour,  so  that 
to  him  the  memory  of  his  many  amourettes 
was  as  though  he  turned  over  a  book  full 
of  pressed  rose  leaves. 

Between  Dolly  and  Arthur  many  con- 
versations occurred  on  the  score  of  the 
dad. 

'  Will  he  ever  range  himself,  do  you 
think,  Doll  ? '  Arthur  would  inquire,  look- 
ing dreamily  at  the  rings  blown  from  his 
cigar. 

'  If  you  mean  will  he  ever  grow  to  be  a 
snuffy  old  gentleman  like  Mr.  Mayne  or 
Captain  Philbrick,'  Dolly  would  reply  with 
latent  irritation,  '  I  don't  believe  he  ever 
will.  He  will  remain  just  the  same  charm- 
ing, considerate,  tender-hearted,  dear  old 
dad  to  the  very  end.' 

'  When  are  you  going  to  let  him  make 
Mrs.  Mellor  happy  ? '  Arthur  remarked 
on  one  of  these  occasions,  with  the  odious 

IO 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

sparkle  of   his    eye    growing  brighter  and 
more  glancing. 

'  Oh,  I  don't  think  the  dad  will  marry 
now,  you  know,'  said  Dolly.  '  I  think  he 
is  really  giving  up  the  idea.' 

1  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear.  He  gets 
sprucer  every  time  I  see  him,  and  he  did 
fetch  those  two  Miss  Fairfords  at  Sir 
James  Bruce's.  Much  better  let  him 
marry  Mrs.  Mellor.  Then  you'll  know 
what  you're  being  let  in  for.  If  you  girls 
don't  practise  a  little  common  prudence  in 
the  case  of  the  dad,  I  foresee  a  young 
stepmother  for  you  and  a  house  full  of 
kids.' 

'  Arthur ! '  cried  his  offended  sister, 
turning  very  red.  '  I  don't  think  you 
should  say  such  things.  You  are  so  dis- 
agreeable over  the  dad,  and  have  never 
yet  appreciated  the  qualities  that  every  one 
likes  so  in  him.  He  can't  help  it  if  women 
want  to  marry  him.  I'm  not  surprised  at 
even  young  and  pretty  women  finding 
him  pleasanter  than  the  conceited,  sneering 
young  men  one  knows.  He  is  so  well- 
bred,  poor  dear.' 

ii 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Arthur  laughed  provokingly. 

'  Meaning  I'm  not.  But  what  about 
Fairfax,  Dolly  ?  He  too  must  be  numbered 
among  the  young  men.' 

Dolly  waved  away  the  impertinent 
question  superbly. 

'  Let  us  keep  to  the  matter  in  hand, 
please.  When  are  you  going  to  learn  to 
treat  your  father  properly  ?  You  have  a 
flippant  manner  towards  him  none  of  us 
like.' 

Arthur  fanned  himself  with  a  Japanese 
fan  he  had  picked  up  from  the  grass. 
This  conversation  occurred  in  delightful 
June  weather,  and  Arthur  had  run  down 
to  see  the  Gardenhurst  roses  in  bloom. 

*  Dear  old  Doll ! '  he  said  with  lazy 
affection,  and  then  began  to  whistle  a  tune 
from  '  Don  Giovanni,'  that  in  which 
Leperello  recites  the  amours  of  his  master. 
His  sister  caught  his  meaning  immediately, 
and  flashed  a  look  of  resentment  at  him. 

'  I  see  it's  no  use  talking  to  you,'  she 
said  ;  '  but  it's  not  well-bred  all  the  same.' 

The  young  man  got  up  from  his  chair 
and  stretched  himself. 


12 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 


'Well,  an  revoir,  my  dear,  I'm  off 
to  the  Pines  to  see  Mrs.  Mellor.  I 
hope  I'll  find  you  in  a  better  temper 
when  I  return.  Any  message  ?  No ! 
Well,  good-bye,  my  child,  and  I'm  deter- 
mined, if  you  foolish  people  won't  let  the 
dad  reward  Mrs.  Mellor's  long  and  ro- 
mantic devotion  to  him,  I'll  reward  it  by 
asking  her  myself.' 

'  Oh,  she  wouldn't  decline  on  yout'  said 
his  sister,  her  face  relaxing  its  sternness. 
4  Not  so  jolly  likely,  after  knowing  the 
dad.' 

1  There  ! '  said  the  young  man  as  he 
whistled  for  the  dogs  to  accompany  him 
on  his  walk.  '  It's  no  wonder  the  old  man 
considers  himself  irresistible.  If  he  makes 
such  slaves  of  his  own  womenkind  he  may 
well  be  confident  about  others.  And  with 
your  sex,  my  dear  sister,  a  man's  confidence 
in  his  own  power  is  the  strong  motive 
force.' 

'  If  that  were  true,  then  youd  be  all- 
conquering,'  said  his  sister. 

'  A  cheap  gibe  ! '  he  answered,  and  then, 
as  he  turned  away,  fired  his  last  shot. 

13 


Ok,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

'  I  shouldn't  mind  wagering  you  ten  to 
one,  any  way  you  like  to  take  it,  that  the 
dad  is  at  this  moment  up  to  some  of  his 
little  games.  You  haven't  heard  from  him 
since  I  came,  and  his  silence,  like  a  spoilt 
child's,  shows  he's  engaged  in  some  en- 
grossing mischief.' 

He  strolled  away  as  he  spoke  to  avoid 
his  sister's  indignant  disclaimer. 

'  As  if  I  should  go  making  wagers  with 
you,  you  wretch,  over  the  dear  old  dad  ! ' 

How  many  conversations  like  this  there 
had  been  between  the  pair,  and  how  often 
Dolly  had  vowed  never  again  to  *  rise '  to 
the  bait,  and  had  broken  that  vow  !  She 
snapped  off  a  thread  in  her  dainty  piece  of 
work  viciously  as  she  looked  after  the  tall 
form  of  her  brother,  now  crossing  the 
meadow  with  leisurely  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  the  dogs  at  his  heels. 

*  I  could  not  have  believed,'  she  said  to 
herself,  '  that  a  sense  of  humour  could  be 
so  irritating  a  thing.  I  often  feel  as  if  I 
should  like  him  better  if  he  were  as  solemn 
as  an  owl  and  as  dull  as  ditch-water.' 

She  folded  up  her  piece  of  work  care- 

14 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 


fully,  and  entered  the  house  by  the  French 
window  of  the  drawing-room,  looking  so 
animated  after  her  little  burst  that  it  was 
a  thousand  pities  Andrew  Fairfax  could 
not  have  seen  her  then. 


»5 


CHAPTER   II 

The  tea  had  just  been  carried  out  on  the 
Gardenhurst  lawn.  The  table  was  set 
under  the  shade  of  a  branching  elm,  all  the 
leaves  of  which  were  dancing  in  the  merry 
June  air.  The  house  stood  over  yonder 
behind  its  thickets  of  roses,  a  charming  old 
gabled  house,  very  old-fashioned  within 
and  without.  The  drawing-room  was 
panelled  in  white  wood,  decorated  with 
mazy  rose  garlands,  according  to  the  taste 
of  a  Mrs.  Strangways  in  the  last  century. 
The  dining-room  kept  its  heavy  oak  beams 
in  the  white  ceiling,  and  upstairs  in  the 
bedrooms,  under  the  pointed  roof,  the  beams 
hung  so  low  that  one  had  to  stoop  to 
pass  below  them.  Londoners  raved  over 
Gardenhurst,  and  it  was  indeed  a  kindly, 
comfortable  old  house,  where  insidious 
modern   conveniences   had   been  added  so 

16 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

quietly  and  deftly  that  one  detected  no  in- 
congruity in  their  presence.  Londoners 
always  said  that  Gardenhurst  smelt  of 
lavender  and  rose  leaves. 

Under  the  elm-tree  the  three  ladies  of 
Gardenhurst  sat  in  comfortable  low  chairs. 
Dolly  was  still  lazily  sewing  her  seam  ; 
Sophia,  the  energetic,  was  resting  after  a 
morning  of  superintending  the  making  of 
jam  in  the  kitchen  ;  Frances  was  sitting 
before  the  tea-tray,  with  its  furnishing  of 
old  brown  and  purple  china,  and  its  sub- 
stantial toast  and  sandwiches  and  hot 
buttered  cakes. 

Arthur  lay  full  length  on  a  rug  on  the 
grass,  his  hands  clasped  under  his  head,  and 
his  eyes  staring  into  the  world  of  leaves 
above  him.  He  liked  his  comforts,  this 
young  gentleman,  and  stoutly  refused  to  lie 
on  the  grass  so  long  as  there  was  a  rug  in 
Gardenhurst. 

'  You,  my  dear  sisters,'  he  had  said, 
'  are  used  to  earwigs  in  your  hair  and  ears 
and  down  your  backs,  and  I've  no  doubt 
rather  enjoy  it  than  otherwise,  whereas  I, 
being  a  mere  Londoner,  would  scream  at 

17  2 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

the  sight  of  a  black-beetle,  and  faint  at  a 
slug.' 

The  Misses  Strangways  vouchsafed  him 
no  answer.  Arthur  found  that  his  sisters 
did  not  readily  rise  to  his  gibes  unless  they 
were  connected  with  his  father. 

'  Two  lumps  of  sugar,  my  dear  Frances,' 
he  said,  in  reply  to  a  question,  '  and  plenty 
of  cream.  Mrs.  Mellor  thinks  I  have  a 
regular  London  colour  and  require  dainties 
to  bring  the  roses  to  my  cheeks.' 

'  Mrs.  Mellor  knows  as  well  as  we  do 
that  your  complexion  was  always  sallow 
and  ill-looking,'  said  Dolly,  nonchalantly. 

'  How  strange  !  '  replied  the  youth.  '  I 
have  noticed  that  Fairfax  often  regards  me 
with  a  dreamy  gaze.  It  never  struck  me 
before  that  it  was  because  my  colour  re- 
minded him  of  yours.' 

Every  one  laughed,  because  Dolly's  milk 
and  roses  were  as  unlike  as  anything  could 
be  to  her  brother's  colourless  cheeks. 

'  You  should  have  plucked  currants 
for  me  this  morning  as  I  asked  you,'  said 
Sophia,  severely.  *  Then  the  sun  might 
really  have  brought  out  some  roses,  if  they 

18 


O/i,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

were  only  yellow  ones,  for  you  to  take  back, 
to  London.' 

Frances  lifted  her  hand. 

'  Hush,  children  ! '  she  said.  '  The  dogs 
are  barking  as  if  for  an  arrival.  Who  can 
it  be  ? ' 

'  Dad,'  said  Sophia.  '  I've  dreamt  of 
him  three  nights  running.' 

'  It  is  surely  the  dad,'  said  Arthur, 
solemnly.  '  And  now,  Dolly,  what  way 
will  you  take  it? ' 

But  Dolly  was  looking  towards  the 
house  eagerly,  and  before  she  had  noticed 
her  brother's  impudent  challenge,  there, 
sure  enough,  was  Duke  himself  lightly 
stepping  across  the  lawn.  He  was  in  a 
gray  summer  suit,  with  a  moss-rose  in  the 
lapel  of  his  coat,  and,  despite  his  frosty  hair, 
he  looked  pleasantly  fresh  and  vigorous. 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  rapturous 
embraces  from  his  daughters,  accompanied 
by  frantic  demonstrations  from  the  dogs, 
who  had  come  leaping  about  him  across  the 
lawn.  So  for  a  few  minutes  he  did  not 
notice  the  lazy  young  gentleman  on  the 
grass.     When  he  did,  a  little  shadow  fell 

•9 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

on  the  brightness  of  his  face.     There  was  a 
distinct  effort  in  the  cheeriness  of  his. 

'Hullo,  Arthur,  my  boy!  When  did 
you  come  down  ? ' 

1  Ha !  '  said  the  astute  youth  in  his  heart, 
'the  dad's  plans  are  put  out  by  my  pres- 
ence. He  comes  with  a  fresh  revelation. 
What  a  score  that  I  dropped  down  here  in 
time  for  it ! ' 

Duke  took  his  cup  of  tea  from  Frances's 
hand,  and  allowed  his  other  daughters  to 
attend  to  him  with  their  accustomed  fond- 
ness. He  was  down  from  town,  and  had  a 
good  deal  to  say  of  this  and  that  function 
and  of  the  distinguished  people  he  had  met. 
Duke  was  evidently  much  in  request,  and 
had  as  fresh  a  faculty  for  making  and  de- 
lighting in  new  friends  as  when  his  hair 
was  golden. 

Still  under  all  the  chatter  he  was  uneasy. 
Arthur  had  sunk  back  on  the  grass  in  his 
old  position,  and  under  his  tilted  cap  his 
eyes  gleamed  in  so  narrow  a  line  that  he 
might  have  been  asleep.  But  his  father 
was  uneasily  conscious  of  that  line,  and  that 
the  eyes  between   the  narrowed  lids  were 

20 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

shrewdly  regarding  himself.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  vexation  which  those  eyes  caused 
him  that  at  length  spurred  him  to  action. 
Arthur  watched  the  dad's  spirit  getting  up, 
though  to  all  appearance  he  was  extracting 
the  last  vestige  of  sap  from  the  grass-blade 
he  was  sucking. 

1  Good  old  boy  ! '  said  the  youth.  *  He's 
bucking  up.  Doesn't  forget  that  he  belongs 
to  a  race  of  soldiers.' 

By  this  time  Phyllis,  the  rosy-cheeked 
upper  housemaid,  had  removed  the  tea-table, 
and  the  little  circle  had  settled  down  for 
conversation.  Duke  cleared  his  throat  once 
or  twice  nervously,  though  his  lips  were 
tight  under  his  white  moustache. 

'  Dear  children  !  '  he  began,  '  and  you, 
Arthur ' — it  was  a  subtle  difference  which 
no  one  seemed  to  notice — '  I  am  so  glad 
to  find  you  all  together  to-day,  because  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  something  that 
most  intimately  concerns  myself.' 

At  this  point  Arthur  opened  his  eyes, 
and  looked  hard  at  his  father  with  what  he 
called  himself '  his  Old  Bailey  eye.'  Many  a 
hardy  witness  had  been  brought  by  it  to  utter 

21 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

confusion.  It  made  his  father  wince,  as  he 
knew  it  would,  and  Dolly  blushed  hotly  in 
the  midst  of  her  curiosity.  She  looked 
down  at  the  sleek  brown  head  on  the  rug  in- 
dignantly. '  If  you  could  only  know,'  she 
said  to  herself,  '  how  beastly  it  is  of  you ! ' 
It  was  strong  language  for  the  gently- 
nurtured  Dolly  Strangways,  but  she  had 
picked  up  her  brother's  schoolboy  slang, 
and  it  often  seemed  to  fit  in  with  her  moods 
better  than  more  conventional  language. 

Perhaps  Arthur  had  seen  his  father  wince, 
and  felt  for  a  moment  the  cruelty  of  it. 
At  least  his  eyes  had  closed  languidly,  and 
there  was  now  no  steely  glitter  under  the 
rim  of  the  cap. 

1  My  dears,'  went  on  Duke,  '  you  are 
good  children,  none  better.  And  yet,  since 
your  dear  mother's  death,  my  life  has  been 
lonely.  I  think  in  my  case  there  is  a  special 
necessity  for  a  woman's  companionship ' — 
he  lifted  his  hand  to  silence  the  protesta- 
tions of  his  girls.  '  I  mean  in  that  most 
intimate  friendship  and  companionship  that 
a  wife  alone  can  give.  My  dears,  I  have 
consented  for  years  to  bear  this  loneliness, 

22 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

because  my  dear  girls,  for  one  reason  or 
another,  did  not  seem  to  see  the  matter  in 
my  light.  But  now,  my  dears,  I  seem  to 
see  before  me  a  chance  of  the  greatest 
happiness,  a  happiness  which  I  feel  sure  my 
dear  ones  will  not  deny  me.  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  I  am  acceptable  to  a  very 
charming  lady — one  of  birth,  beauty,  virtue, 
and  accomplishments,  one  who,  I  feel  sure, 
would  adorn  this  dear  circle,  and  make  a 
delightful  friend  for  my  girls,' — he  broke 
down  rather  lamely. 

'Who  is  this  lady?'  asked  Frances,  coldly. 

Poor  Puke  looked  about  him  with  a 
bewildered  sense  of  the  chill  in  the  air. 
Sophia  was  looking  sullen  ;  even  prettv 
Dolly  was  stabbing  her  seam  viciously ; 
Arthur  had  turned  over  on  his  face,  and 
there  was  no  revelation  of  what  he  might 
be  thinking  in  his  broad  shoulders  and  his 
close-cropped  head. 

'  My  dears,'  he  began  again  pleadingly. 
'  Don't  set  yourselves  against  me  till  you 
know  more.  The  lady's  name  is  Beatrice 
Challoner.  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  brave 
soldier,  and  comes  from  a  long  line  of  dis- 

23 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

tinguished  and  honourable  people.  She  is 
poor,  my  dears,  and  living  a  very  lonely 
life  at  Mrs.  Brown's  boarding-house  in 
Kensington,  where  I  met  her.  My  girls 
would  not  care  for  her  less  because  she  is 
poor  and  lonely  and  very  proud.  You 
must  know  her,  my  dears,  before  you  re- 
ject her.  I  have  said  nothing  to  her  until 
I  had  first  told  my  dear  children.  Believe 
me,'  said  Duke,  stretching  out  his  hands  to 
them,  '  she  is  everything  to  honour  and 
love.  She  is  a  most  high-minded,  accom- 
plished, and  beautiful  young  lady.' 

A  thrill  passed  through  his  audience, 
and  a  simultaneous  exclamation  of  'Toungf 
came  from  three  pairs  of  lips.  Arthur 
showed  no  sign.  There  was  a  little  heav- 
ing of  his  shoulders,  that  was  all ;  but  no 
one  was  thinking  of  Arthur. 

'  Dad,  dear,'  began  Frances,  '  you  speak 
of  a  young  lady.  Am  I  to  understand  that 
you  propose  to  place  a  young  woman  over 
me  and  my  sisters  ?  I  am  no  longer  very 
young,  and  I  must  confess  it  would  be  very 
bitter  to  me  to  yield  up  the  place  I  have 
occupied  since  my  mother's  death.' 

24 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

What  Duke  would  have  answered  can 
never  be  known,  for  suddenly  the  quiet 
figure  on  the  grass  rolled  over,  exhibiting 
a  face  purple  with  suppressed  laughter. 
'  Oh,  Lord,  young,  a  young  lady  ! '  spluttered 
Arthur,  amidst  his  peals  of  laughter.  He 
struggled  somehow  to  his  feet  and  leant 
against  the  bole  of  the  elm,  struggling  with 
his  mirth.  Peal  after  peal  of  laughter 
issued  from  his  lips,  mingled  with  'Oh,  dad, 
you'll  kill  us.  You're  perfectly  incurable, 
you  know.  Oh,  good  Lord,  a  young  lady, 
think  of  it ! ' 

Duke  started  forward,  his  face  turning 
very  red  and  then  a  little  pale. 

'Why,  you  confounded  young  jacka- 
napes ! '  he  began,  furiously.  '  How  dare 
you,  sir?  I  say,  sir,  stop  that  idiotic 
laughter,  or,  confound  you,  sir,  I'll  make  you.' 

The  Misses  Strangways  leaped  to  their 
feet.  They  had  never  seen  their  father  so 
angry  before,  and  they  were  shocked  at  the 
unseemly  conduct  of  their  brother.  How- 
ever, the  young  gentleman  ended  the  scene 
himself.  He  dabbed  his  streaming  eyes  with 
his    pocket-handkerchief,    vaulted    lightly 

25 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

over  the  garden  seat  beside  which  he  was 
leaning,  and  vanished  into  the  house. 
Echoes  of  his  delighted  exclamations  and 
laughter  came  back  to  them  on  the  breeze ; 
and,  judging  from  the  sounds  from  within 
the  drawing-room,  he  was  engaged  in  stifling 
his  mirth  with  a  sofa-cushion,  while  his  feet 
drummed  vigorously  on  the  old  damask 
roses  of  the  settee. 

After  this  all  organised  opposition  on 
the  part  of  the  Misses  Strangways  was  im- 
possible. They  spent  the  afternoon  coax- 
ing and  soothing  Duke's  ruffled  feelings. 
Arthur  did  not  reappear,  and  just  before 
the  dressing-bell  Dolly  went  into  the  house 
to  give  him,  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself, 
a  bit  of  her  mind.  She  did  not  find  him, 
as  she  expected,  lying  on  his  bed  reading  a 
novel.  On  the  contrary  he  was  just  closing 
his  portmanteau.  He  turned  to  his  sister 
with  an  audacious  smile. 

'  Well,  Doll,  I'm  taking  myself  off".     I 

won't  stay  to  assist  you  in  putting  the  dad 

off  his  girl.     He  won't  be  happy  while  I'm 

here,  or  till  he  gets  her,  probably,  so  I'm 

off  on  the  6.45.' 

26 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  And  the  best  thing  you  could  do,'  said 
his  sister,  severely.  '  You've  done  enough 
mischief  as  it  is.  You've  not  only  offended 
the  dad,  and  behaved,  I  can't  help  saying 
it,  like  a  bounder,  but  you've  put  us  in  the 
position  that  we  can't  give  the  dad  a  talk- 
ing to  as  we  should  have  done  only  for 
your  most  unfortunate  presence  and  be- 
haviour. He's  so  sore  that  we  can  only 
try  to  make  him  forget  how  rude  you've 
been.' 

'  Drive  out  one  nail  by  driving  in 
another,'  suggested  the  youth,  flippantly, 
as  he  strapped  the  portmanteau.  '  Have 
over  Mrs.  Mellor  this  evening,  and  get  the 
dad  married  to  her  by  special  licence  to- 
morrow morning.  Old  Rayner  would 
manage  it  to  save  the  scandal  of  dad's 
marrying  a  girl.' 

'We  don't  want  your  advice,  Arthur. 
We'll  manage  our  affairs  without  you  in 
future.  Allow  me  to  say  that  I'm  glad 
you've  the  decency  to  go.' 

'  Thank  you,  my  dear.  I've  had  de- 
lightful entertainment  during  my  visit. 
Write  and  tell  me  how  you've  succeeded 

27 


O/i,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

with  the  dad.  Any  message  to  Fairfax  ? 
Your  love  ?  No  ?  Well,  don't  get  so  red 
over  it.  Keep  your  blushes  for  our  learned 
friend  himself.     He'll  appreciate  them.' 

Duke's  daughters  soon  found  that  Ar- 
thur's behaviour  that  unfortunate  afternoon 
had  broken  the  back  of  their  opposition. 
For  a  day  or  two  their  father  sunned  him- 
self in  the  love  with  which  they  surrounded 
him,  every  act  of  which  was  an  unspoken 
reparation.  For  a  day  or  two  they  heard 
no  more  of  Miss  Challoner.  Then  one 
evening  Duke  returned  to  the  charge. 
He  was  very  gentle  and  eminently  reason- 
able, and  he  had  a  way  of  making  each  of  his 
girls  feel  that  on  her  especially  he  rested  in 
love  and  confidence.  He  made  no  refer- 
ence to  the  scene  with  Arthur.  Quite  un- 
expectedly he  announced  his  return  to 
London  the  next  day. 

'  I  want  one  of  you  to  return  with  me,' 
he  said,  '  and  enjoy  a  few  days  of  town. 
I've  written  to  Mrs.  Brown  for  a  room, 
and  she'll  keep  it,  though  the  place  is  un- 
reasonably crowded  just  now.  I  should 
like   you,   my    dear   girls,   to    know   Miss 

28 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

Challoner.  Even  if  she  is  never  to  stand 
to  me  in  a  closer  relationship — and  indeed 
it  may  well  be  that  I  am  over-presumptu- 
ous in  thinking  such  youth  and  beauty 
would  stoop  to  me — still  I  should  like  to 
win  my  girls'  friendship  for  a  very  lonely 
girl.' 

He  said  it  with  such  a  pathetic  dignity 
that  it  brought  tears  to  the  impressionable 
eyes  of  his  daughters.  Perhaps  after  all 
Arthur  was  not  far  out  when  he  had  chuckled 
over  his  father's  cunning.  It  was  surpris- 
ing how  the  opposition  had  crumbled. 
The  Misses  Strangways  felt  vaguely  that 
they  had  been  weak  after  they  had  consented 
that  one  of  their  number  should  accom- 
pany their  father  to  London.  After  a 
little  discussion  it  was  decided  that  Dolly 
should  be  that  one,  and  in  the  morning  the 
elder  sisters  assisted  her  to  pack  her  pretty 
frocks. 

'  Mind,   Dolly,'   said   Sophia,   who  was 

the    strong-minded    one,   'don't    be    won 

over  too  much  by  that  girl.     We've  been 

weak   with   the  dad,  but   we    were  forced 

into   a   position   in   which  we   couldn't   be 

29 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


unhandsome  to  him.  But,  all  the  same, 
we  don't  mean  to  accept  Miss  Beatrice 
Challoner  as  a  stepmother.' 

'  Yes,  dear,'  added  Frances,  '  be  very 
sensible  ;  and  even  if  she  is  as  charming 
as  the  dad  says,  don't  form  one  of  your 
impulsive  friendships  with  her  —  at  least 
not  till  you've  found  out  whether  she 
means  to  take  the  dad  or  not.' 

But  Dolly  was  wondering  more  about 
the  chances  of  seeing  Andrew  Fairfax  than 
thinking  of  Miss  Challoner  and  her  father. 
All  the  same  she  assured  her  sisters  with 
fervour  that  she  would  be  very  prudent,  as 
prudent  as  Sophia  herself  would  be. 

*  No,  you  won't,  my  dear,'  said  Sophia, 
promptly. 

Dolly  went  off  the  next  morning,  look- 
ing, in  her  pink  print  frock  and  white  hat, 
the  incarnation  of  dewy  freshness.  The 
two  elder  sisters  kissed  her  with  pride  and 
fondness.  In  their  kind  hearts  they  were 
glad  of  the  outing  for  her. 

'  I  tell  you  what,  Frances,'  said  Sophia, 
resolutely,  after  the  dog-cart  had  driven  off, 
'we   mustn't  let  that  child  wither  among 

3° 


O/;,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

the  Kentish  roses.  Dolly's  not  cut  out  for 
an  independent  woman  like  you  or  me. 
Dolly  must  marry.' 

'  Yes,'  assented  the  elder  sister.  '  Dolly 
ought  to  marry.  Perhaps  after  she  comes 
back  we  should  ask  Arthur  to  bring  that 
pleasant  young  Fairfax  for  a  week  or  two. 
He  might  often  run  down  from  Saturday 
to  Monday.' 


3* 


CHAPTER    III 

Arthur  had  been  back  in  town  a  week, 
and  had  heard  nothing  of  how  the  opposi- 
tion to  the  Challoner  match,  as  he  called  it, 
had  been  going.  He  felt  that  his  sisters 
had  put  him  in  the  corner  like  a  naughty 
little  boy,  but  that  fact  did  not  depress 
him.  His  enjoyment  of  the  episode  had 
not  passed  ;  and  over  and  over  again  he  had 
recalled  the  events  of  his  last  afternoon  at 
Gardenhurst,  usually  ending  up  by  a  fit  of 
laughter  that  very  much  astonished  the 
dignified,  half-bred  Persian  tabby  who  was 
the  companion  of  his  few  solitary  hours. 

Arthur  went  out  a  good  deal,  and  it  was 
now  the  height  of  the  London  season,  when 
events,  lest  they  should  be  overtaken  by 
the  end,  jostled  and  tumbled  over  each 
other  through  the  golden  June  day  and 
night.     Not  many  habitues  of  Pump  Court 

32 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

had  a  mantel-piece  so  heavily  bestrewn 
with  invitation  cards  as  Mr.  Arthur  Strang- 
ways.  He  was  popular,  and  especially  with 
the  dowagers.  When  this  fact  was  alluded 
to  in  his  presence,  he  acknowledged  it  in 
a  slightly  shamefaced  manner,  ascribing  it 
to  his  worldly  wisdom  rather  than  to  any 
natural  gifts  or  graces  with  which  he  was 
favoured.  But  the  dowagers  could  have 
told  otherwise.  Mrs.  Mellor  had  said, 
rebuking  him  once  for  his  pose  as  Mr. 
Worldly  Wiseman,  that  he  was  not  the  son 
of  the  most  charming  man  of  his  day  for 
nothing.    «. 

'  Pooh,  my  lad,'  the  still  fair  and  dimpled 
widow  had  said,  softly  patting  the  young 
fellow's  cheek,  '  we  women  like  you  because 
under  your  impudence  we  find  something  of 
the  graciousness  which  has  made  three  genera- 
tions of  us  adore  Duke  Strangways.  Not 
that  you'll  ever  be  like  him — don't  imagine 
it !  He's  the  fine  flower  of  good  manners, 
and  you're  but  a  decent  lad  with  an  inherited 
pleasantness.  So  don't  give  yourself  airs 
over  what  I  say.' 

'  My  dear  lady,'  replied  the  unabashed 
33  3 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

son  of  his  father,  '  if  I  could  believe  what 
you  say,  I'd  risk  everything  and  ask  you 
to  become  Mrs.  Arthur  Strangways.' 

'  No,  you  wouldn't,  Impudence,'  said 
the  lady,  highly  diverted  ;  '  and  if  you  did, 
you'd  promptly  find  yourself  refused. 
Besides,  I'd  cut  you  off,  from  motives  of 
propriety,  from  your  frequent  visits  here 
and  all  the  petting  I  can  give  you  now  as 
being  old  enough  to  be  your  mother.' 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Mellor 
was  largely  responsible  for  the  spoiling  of 
Arthur  Strangways.  There  was  an  un- 
spoken bond  of  affection  between  the  two, 
though  they  nearly  always  talked  to  each 
other  in  a  jesting  way.  Be  sure  Mrs. 
Mellor  did  not  think  less  well  of  the  young 
fellow  because  she  knew  that  he,  for  one, 
would  be  glad  to  see  her  installed  as  his 
father's  wife.  Fond  as  she  was  of  the  girls, 
she  could  not  help  feeling  at  times  a  little 
indignant  over  the  stupidity  of  their  attitude 
as  regarded  herself. 

Arthur  had  come  in  in  the  small  hours 
after  a  reception  and  a  big  ball.  He  turned 
over     the    accumulation     of    his     letters 

34 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

languidly.  Then  his  face  brightened  as 
though  he  had  come  upon  one  in  his  sweet- 
heart's handwriting.  But  he  was  quite 
fancy-free,  and  the  bold  writing  was  that  of 
his  sister  Dolly.  He  and  Dolly  had  loved 
each  other  faithfully  from  the  cradle, 
though  he  had  teased  Dolly,  and  she  had 
resented  it  ever  since  he  could  remember. 

'Sweet  old  Doll,'  he  said  aloud,  laughing, 
'  she  has  come  round  and  forgiven  me.' 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  read  it 
through,  giving  a  low  whistle  of  surprise 
now  and  again.     The  letter  ran  : — 

Albury  House,  Kensington, 
igth  'June. 

My  dear  old  Arthur — I  think  you  were 
very  bad  the  last  time  I  saw  you,  but  of  course 
as  usual  it  is  I  who  have  to  come  round,  and  you 
who  will  not  say  you  are  sorry.  I  came  back  to 
town  with  the  dad  a  few  days  after  you  left,  and 
have  been  enjoying  some  of  the  gaieties,  though 
it  would  have  been  pleasanter  if  you  could  have 
shared  them.  However,  Miss  Challoner  goes 
everywhere  with  us.  She  is  not  at  all  what  we 
could  have  supposed  her  to  be,  and  I  think  it  un- 
likely she  would  marry  an  old  man.     But  she  is 

35 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love 


not  easy  to  know.  I  daresay  you  will  be 
surprised  to  find  me  good  friends  with  her,  but 
you  have  yourself  to  thank  for  it.  Even  Sophia 
could  say  nothing  after  you  had  pained  the  dear 
old  dad  so  much,  but  only  try  to  make  him 
forget  that  his  son  could  behave  so.  Would  you 
like  me  to  come  to  your  rooms  one  evening  ? 
for  of  course  you  would  not  care  to  come  here ; 
and  I  should  not  like  to  leave  town  without 
seeing  my  dear  old  Arthur. — Ever  your  loving 

Doll. 

'  Poor  little  Doll  ! '  said  the  young  man 
to  himself.  '  What  a  transparent  child  it 
is !  She  is  half  ashamed  of  her  weakness, 
and  a  little  bit  inclined  to  rub  it  into  me. 
The  dad  has  bamboozled  them  all  once 
more.  And  then  the  child  wants  to  come 
here  in  the  simple  expectation  that  Fairfax 
may  be  here  as  well.  Well,  so  he  shall  be. 
It's  doing  a  good  turn  for  old  Andrew  too.' 

He  turned  the  letter  over. 

'  Hullo,  the  usual  feminine  postscript, 
in  the  most  unlikely  corner  !  ' 

He  read  it  over  once  or  twice. 

'  The  Lyceum  to-morrow  night.  That 
means   the    dad    will    have    a    box.     And 

36 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

dinner  at  the  Criterion.  I'm  hanged  if  I 
won't  turn  up  and  inspect  the  fair  Beatrice 
for  myself.  I'll  be  able  to  tell  in  a  brace 
of  shakes  whether  she'll  oust  my  dear  Mrs. 
Mellor  or  not.  Begad,  if  the  dad  comes 
through  this  I'll  see  that  he  makes  Mrs. 
Mellor  Mrs.  Strangways,  or  die  for  it.  I 
believe  he  likes  the  little  woman  better 
than  all  the  boarding-house  adventuresses 
in  London,  if  those  idiotic  girls  would  only 
see  the  matter  in  its  proper  light.  Dinner 
at  the  Criterion.  That  means  7  o'clock. 
If  they  haven't  room  for  me  I  can  dine  at 
another  table,  and  the  dad  can't  refuse  me 
a  back  seat  in  the  box.  I'll  do  it.  It's 
playing  it  low  on  the  dad  to  spoil  his  love- 
making,  but  it's  for  his  good,  poor  old 
boy.  I'll  make  it  up  to  him  presently  with 
Mrs.  Mellor.' 

The  next  evening  Duke,  looking  more 
distinguished  than  any  ducal  personage  in 
England,  was  sitting  opposite  his  daughter 
and  Miss  Challoner  at  a  little  table  near 
one  of  the  windows  in  a  big  dining  saloon 
of  the  Criterion.  Outside  was  the  ex- 
hilarating life  and  commotion  of  Piccadilly 

37 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  hove ! 

Circus  in  June.  Within  all  was  gaiety  and 
sparkle.  Folk  in  evening  dress  were  at 
every  table,  and  there  was  a  buzz  of 
conversation  broken  by  the  popping  of 
champagne  corks  and  the  busy  clatter  of 
knives  and  forks.  Dolly,  that  country 
rosebud,  was  enjoying  it  highly.  She 
looked  so  joyous  with  her  blue  eyes  shining 
and  her  red  lips  smiling,  that  a  good  many 
people  passing  to  and  fro  through  the 
crowded  rooms  turned  to  look  at  her  as  at 
something  very  pleasant. 

Suddenly  she  uttered  an  exclamation 
brightly  and  then  turned  grave.  Duke 
looked  at  her. 

'  What  is  it,  my  dear  ? ' 

'  There  is  Arthur,  dads.  He  hasn't  seen  us 
yet.  Yes,  he  has  ;  he's  coming  this  way  now.' 

Beatrice  Challoner,  looking  with  languid 
kindliness  at  her  host,  saw  his  eyes  cloud 
and  a  little  shadow  fall  on  his  beaming 
face.  She  felt  vaguely  sorry  for  an  instant. 
Then  Duke  rose  up,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  tall  young  fellow  approaching.  He 
spoke  cordially  enough,  but  his  tone  seemed 
a  little  forced. 

38 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  Can't  find  a  table,  my  boy  ?  But 
there's  plenty  of  room  here.  Allow  me  to 
introduce  my  boy,  Arthur,  Miss  Challoner.' 

Beatrice  Challoner  looked  up  in  her 
queenly  way,  as  ready  to  be  gracious  to 
Arthur  Strangways  as  to  any  other  human 
being.  She  was  not  greatly  interested  in 
young  men.  One  of  the  race  had  too 
thoroughly  disillusioned  her,  and  when  she 
had  got  over  her  heart-sickness  of  dis- 
illusionment it  left  her  with  a  somewhat 
unjust  depreciation  of  young  men  as  a 
class. 

Young  Strangways  had  not  glanced  at 
her,  and  unfortunately,  just  as  she  lifted  her 
faintly  smiling  eyes  to  his  face,  she  inter- 
cepted a  meaning  look  which  was  intended 
for  his  sister  Dolly.  Miss  Challoner  was 
a  clever  and  impulsive  young  woman. 
Somehow  she  divined  what  that  impudent 
look  really  meant.  The  blood  rushed  to 
her  heart  as  it  ebbed  away  from  her  cheeks. 
She  had  a  sudden,  amazed  comprehension 
of  the  attitude  of  this  young  man's  mind 
towards  her. 

Arthur  meanwhile  had  turned  to  inspect 

39 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

her  with  lazy  curiosity.  What  he  had 
expected  to  see  was  a  hard,  handsome  young 
woman,  not  over-fresh  after  long  experience 
of  London  boarding  -  houses,  not  over- 
scrupulous as  to  the  age  of  the  man  she 
would  marry,  if  marriage  were  the  golden 
key  to  open  to  her  the  doors  of  rank, 
wealth,  ease,  and  social  distinction.  What 
he  saw  was  a  girl  of  twenty-three  or  twenty- 
four,  with  a  delicate  and  disdainful  face, 
dark  hair  coiled  low  on  her  neck,  and 
large  gray  eyes  that  were  now  looking 
at  him  with  a  light  which  was  anything 
but  friendly. 

The  young  man  showed  his  discomfiture 
by  the  muttered  exclamation  with  which 
he  took  the  seat  opposite  to  her.  Dolly 
saw  and  heard,  and  smiled  maliciously. 
She  felt  it  good  that  Arthur  should  be 
snuffed  out  for  once  in  a  way.  He  was 
too  disconcerted  to  turn  the  batteries  of 
his  humour  on  the  dad  :  that  in  itself  was 
an  unrelieved  blessing. 

Duke  was  quick  to  discover  that  his 
son  was  for  some  reason  or  other  not  in 

his  usual  mocking  mood  ;  and  having  dis- 

40 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

covered  it  he  forgot  all  about  him  as  soon 
as  possible.  Miss  Challoner  looked  in 
Arthur's  direction  no  more  after  the  first 
haughty  inclination  of  her  head.  He  felt 
with  a  queer  sensation  of  irritation  that  she 
was  very  well  satisfied  indeed  with  his 
father's  attentions.  Duke  was  radiant,  and 
outdid  himself  in  sweetness  and  amiability. 
Beside  him  Arthur  was  uneasily  conscious 
that  he  appeared  stupid  and  unready.  That 
girl  over  there  had  non-plussed  him  out  of 
his  usual  humorous  ease. 

The  dinner  concluded  without  Miss 
Challoner  -having  once  spoken  to  him  or 
looked  in  his  direction.  Dolly  had  chattered 
a  good  deal  of  where  she  had  been  and 
what  she  had  seen,  but  he  had  not  re- 
sponded with  his  usual  brightness.  From 
feeling  snubbed  at  first  he  had  begun  to 
feel  bad-tempered,  and  Arthur  was  one  of 
the  good-tempered  people  with  a  quite 
unexpected  streak  of  nasty  temper  some- 
where hidden  in  him. 

When  the  two  girls  had  gone  to  put 
on  their  cloaks,  Duke  turned  to  the  young 
fellow  with  an  afFable  forgetfulness  of  past 

41 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  hove  ! 

offences.  '  You  are  coming  on  with  us, 
my  lad  ?  Inconvenience  us  ?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  There  are  chairs  for  four,  and 
Ellen  Terry  is  very  fine  in  the  new  piece, 
they  say.' 

Arthur  could  have  found  it  in  his  heart 
to  refuse,  but  he  had  a  stinging  curiosity  to 
see  more  of  the  girl,  and  a  curious  angry 
desire  to  make  her  turn  those  starry  eyes 
on  himself.  He  had  not  been  accustomed 
to  be  treated  so  carelessly,  and  the  novelty 
was  unpleasant. 

He  answered  his  father  easily.  '  Thanks, 
dad,  I  think  I'll  come.  I've  nothing 
special  on  to-night.' 

To  himself  he  said,  as  he  stood  there  a 
little  rigid  in  his  attitude — 

'  Far  better  go  to  Lady  Di's,  and  dance 
with  the  pretty  fair -haired  Campion  girl 
who  appreciates  you.  Then  your  devil 
may  go  to  sleep  for  another  hundred  years.' 

You  see   Arthur  Strangways  was  more 

conscious  than  any  one  else  in  the  world 

of  that  little  ugly  streak  of  temper  in  him. 

Whenever  it  came  to  life  it  was  himself  it 

fretted.     He  had  a  sufficiently  strong  will 

42 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

to  fume  in  silence,  but  the  beast  worried 
him  the  more  for  that. 

The  girls  came  in  with  their  white  and 
gold  cloaks  much  alike — alike  enough,  at 
least,  to  deceive  the  untrained  masculine 
eye  into  thinking  them  much  alike.  As 
they  went  down  the  wide  stairs  Dolly 
slipped  her  hand  through  her  brother's  arm. 
Perhaps  she  divined  his  ruffled  feelings. 
Perhaps  she  only  wanted  to  hear  some- 
thing of  Andrew  Fairfax,  and  went  circ- 
ling about  her  as  yet  unauthorised  love 
as  carefully  as  a  bird  about  its  concealed 
nest.  * 

Duke  and  Miss  Challoner  had  preceded 
them,  and  when  they  reached  the  pavement 
it  was  in  time  to  see  two  hansoms  draw  up 
in  obedience  to  the  whistle  of  the  com- 
missionaire. 

'  Two  hansoms  ! '  muttered  the  disgusted 
young  man.  'Damn  it!  I  call  it  vulgar. 
It  is  after  the  manner  of  lovering  couples  in 
Brixton  and  Camberwell.  I  did  think  the 
dad  good  form  in  spite  of  his  confounded 
folly.' 

But     Dolly     clapped     her    hands    with 

43 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

delight.  A  hansom  ride  was  always  delight- 
ful to  her,  and  she  settled  down  for  the 
short  distance  blissfully. 

Matters  did  not  improve  during  the 
progress  of  the  play.  Arthur  sat  uncom- 
fortably where  he  could  only  see  by  craning 
his  neck.  He  did  not  indeed  try  to  see. 
Miss  Challoner's  creamy  shoulder  and  proud 
head  rilled  all  his  thoughts.  So  insistent 
did  his  desire  to  make  her  speak  to  him 
or  look  at  him  become,  that  he  addressed 
her  pointedly  at  last.  She  swept  him  with  a 
superb  gaze,  and  answered  him  in  mono- 
syllables. He  sat  back  in  his  uncomfort- 
able chair,  biting  his  lip  to  keep  his  demon 
down. 

He  was  furious  by  the  time  they 
left  the  theatre — furious  with  the  girl, 
furious  with  what  he  called  his  father's 
fatuous  happiness  in  the  smiles  that  were 
lavished  so  sweetly  upon  him,  furious  with 
Dolly  for  enjoying  it  all  so  much  and  for 
insisting  on  waiting  to  the  very  last. 

They  left  the  theatre  in  the  same  order 
they  had  entered  it.  Duke  got  his  fair 
charge  out  quickly,  though  the  others  were 

44 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

hard  on  his  heels.  When  his  son  and 
daughter  emerged  from  the  crowd  he 
turned  a  radiant  face  upon  them. 

'  We  must  walk  down  a  little  way  to 
our  hansoms,'  he  said  ;  '  the  man  says  we 
shall  else  have  to  wait  a  long  time.' 

'  Not  in  the  same  order,  dad,'  the 
young  man  muttered  viciously.  '  There's 
been  enough  philandering  for  one  evening, 
and  it's  not  decent.' 

As  they  stood  on  the  pavement  there 
was  some  little  shifting  of  places.  The 
hansoms  were  driving  up,  Duke  zealously 
signalling  ttD  them. 

'  Dolly,'  whispered  the  young  fellow 
into  the  pink  ear  nearest  to  him,  '  you  go 
with  the  dad  this  time.  We  don't  want 
any  more  folly  with  this  girl.' 

There  was  a  sudden  flash  of  lovely, 
indignant  eyes  that  scorched  him  like 
summer  lightning.  He  blushed  hotly  with 
rage  and  shame.  He  stammered  something, 
he  knew  not  what,  but  the  girl  had  looked 
away  again  contemptuously.  In  a  minute 
she  had  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  father's 
arm,  and  had  sprung  into  the  hansom.    Duke 

45 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

followed  her,  and  it  flashed  off  through  the 
darkness. 

Arthur  assisted  Dolly  miserably  into  the 
second  hansom  which  had  now  drawn  up. 
He  felt  altogether  crushed  and  wretched 
over  his  mistake. 

'  Oh,  Doll,  Doll,'  he  groaned, '  why  in  the 
name  of  all  the  devils  do  you  and  that  girl 
wear  cloaks  exactly  alike  ? ' 

Dolly  looked  at  him  in  bewilderment, 
seeing  which  he  laughed  out,  a  laugh  with- 
out mirth. 

His  sister  had  apparently  no  idea  of  the 
betise  he  had  committed. 


46 


CHAPTER    IV 

On  a  fine  afternoon  of  the  following 
week  Arthur  Strangways  was  moving  about 
restlessly  in  his  sitting-room,  taking  up 
things  and  putting  them  down  again, 
altering  the  position  of  a  vase  of  flowers  or 
a  book  or  a  photograph,  in  a  manner  which 
showed  him  to  be  ill  at  ease.  The  room 
was  long  and  low,  with  deep  window-seats 
and  wide  doors.  The  windows  looked 
into  a  lofty  elm,  the  branches  of  which  still 
waved  in  spring  lightness  and  freshness. 
In  those  branches  there  was  a  prodigious 
chattering  of  married  birds.  The  room 
was  distinctly  pleasant.  There  were  pictures 
on  the  walls  between  panels  of  old  tapestry. 
The  grate  was  lined  with  Delft  tiles 
representing  Scripture  stories.  There  were 
roses  everywhere  :  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and 
in  the  many  '  pots '  about  the  room,  which 

47 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

bore  witness  to  the  cricketing  and  rowing 
prowess  of  Arthur  Strangways ;  on  the 
American  desk,  more  useful  than  beautiful, 
with  its  multitude  of  drawers  and  pigeon- 
holes ;  on  the  long  table  among  the  papers, 
which  were  pushed  together  in  a  heap  to 
make  room  for  a  dainty  tea  equipage, 
flanked  by  piles  of  strawberries. 

Mr.  Strangways  had  half-shamefacedly 
taken  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  make  this 
special  room  pretty  to-day,  while  retaining 
something  of  the  litter  and  dust  of 
masculine  belongings  which  are  an  item 
of  the  feminine  enjoyment  in  visiting 
chambers  or  college  rooms.  He  was  very 
fond  of  Dolly,  but  these  preparations  were 
not  made  for  Dolly. 

He  had  really  suffered  over  his  un- 
fortunate contretemps  with  Beatrice  Challoner. 
He  had  felt  the  brutality  of  his  speech 
keenly,  and  had  not  been  able  to  think  on 
the  matter  without  an  intolerable  loathing  of 
himself.  His  bad  temper  had  disappeared 
before  his  shame.  At  first  he  had  had  the 
feeling  that  he  could  not  endure  ever  to 
see  or    hear   of  the  girl   again.      Later  a 

48 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


little  hope  came  to  him  that,  given  time 
and  opportunity,  he  might  make  her  see 
he  was  not  the  brute  he  must  have  seemed 
to  her.  He  had  usually  been  able  to  make 
it  right  with  women,  and  why  not  with  her, 
if  he  were  very  humble  and  very  careful. 

He  had  had  some  idea  of  writing  an 
apology  to  her,  but  he  had  rejected  it. 
He  felt  the  thing  did  not  bear  touching 
upon  in  words.  '  Hang  it  all,'  he  had  said 
to  himself  in  an  access  of  hope,  '  if  the  girl 
has  any  decency  in  her  she'll  know  I'm 
heavily  punished.' 

It  was  i«  this  mood  that  he  boldly  made 
the  venture  of  asking  her  to  come  with  his 
sister  to  tea  in  his  rooms.  The  note  he  had 
written  to  her  had  had  an  unspoken  appeal 
for  pardon  in  every  word.  It  was  as  defer- 
ential as  though  it  were  written  to  a  queen. 

'  The  girl  couldn't  look  so  majestic,'  he 
argued  with  himself,  '  without  having  some 
corresponding  nobility  of  character.  She 
can  afford  to  be  magnanimous,  and  she  will 
read  between  the  lines  that  I  am  squirming.' 

But  no  answer  had  reached  him  from 
Miss  Challoner,  though  Dolly  had  written 

49  4 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

a  delighted  acceptance.  He  watched  the 
posts  till  the  last  with  a  keenness  that 
amazed  himself.  Then  he  had  given  up 
expecting  a  reply,  and  had  gone  through 
his  work  all  that  morning,  with  the 
conflicting  arguments  for  her  coming  or 
not  coming  intruding  between  him  and  his 
parchments. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Andrew  Fairfax 
ran  lightly  up  the  stairs  and  kicked  at  his 
friend's  oak.  Arthur  noted  with  saturnine 
amusement  the  young  fellow's  eager  glance 
about  the  room  which  took  in  the  most 
shadowy  corners.  '  Does  he  think  I've 
Doll  hidden  behind  the  screen,  or  below 
the  tapestry  ? '  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
resigned  groan  over  the  folly  of  lovers. 

A  little  later  came  the  dainty  feminine 
knock  which  made  his  heart  leap.  He 
went  to  the  door,  afraid  to  meet  the  beauty 
he  had  offended,  but  yet  more  afraid  not  to 
meet  her.  He  opened  it  slowly  to  give 
himself  time.  When  it  had  opened  he  was 
conscious  of  a  blank  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment. There  was  only  Dolly,  fluttering 
in  her  light  summer  draperies.     He  drew 

50 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

her  in  with  affectionate  welcome,  and  kissed 
her  bright  cheeks,  with  no  sign  of  the 
disappointment  he  felt. 

'  Come  along,  dear,'  he  said,  '  the  tea  is 
just  waiting  to  be  made,  and  Fairfax  is 
dying  of  thirst.'  He  had  a  forlorn  sense 
that  now  there  was  no  other  guest  need  be 
expected.  However,  he  hoped  his  sister 
brought  an  explanation,  an  apology  even  of 
the  most  formal  ;  but  Dolly,  after  her  first 
rapturous  blush  at  the  sight  of  Andrew 
Fairfax,  had  settled  down  to  chatter  of 
everything  in  the  world  but  that  which  he 
specially  desired  to  know. 

'  What  an  extravagant  boy  you  are  ! ' 
she  said,  her  hands  fluttering  over  the 
scarlet  strawberries,  '  to  have  all  those  piles 
of  strawberries  for  just  me,  when  I  know 
they're  selling  at  a  ruinous  price.' 

Arthur  smiled  grimly 

'  You'll  spare  a  few,  I  daresay,  for  me 
and  Fairfax,  my  dear,  when  you've  quite 
satisfied  your  own  greediness.' 

Dolly  prepared  two  plates  of  the  fruit 
and  added  sugar  and  cream,  and  then,  by 
way  of  reproach,  handed  the  larger  of  the 

51 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

two  to  her  brother.  The  other  she  held 
out  with  a  shy  smile  to  the  brawny,  sandy- 
haired  young  giant  who  was  straddling  the 
rug  before  the  fireplace,  and  looking  as  if 
he  were  already  one  of  the  blest. 

'  It's  a  thousand  pities,'  muttered  Arthur 
to  himself,  '  that  propriety  won't  permit  of 
my  clearing  out  and  leaving  those  young 
fools  to  themselves.  I  feel  I'm  deucedly 
in  the  way.' 

He  did  the  next  best  thing,  for  when 
tea  was  finished  he  went  off  to  his  desk 
with  the  excuse  of  having  letters  to  write, 
and  left  the  couple  to  converse  together  at 
the  other  end  of  the  long,  low  room.  They 
seemed  to  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each 
other,  and  he  threw  himself  into  his  letter- 
writing  with  a  savage  resolution  to  think 
no  more  of  Miss  Challoner  and  her  treat- 
ment of  him.  His  quill  scratched  away 
energetically  while  the  long,  golden  after- 
noon went.  He  had  accumulated  quite  a 
pile  of  letters  before  Dolly  addressed  him 
with  an  evident  unwillingness. 

'Arthur,  dear,  I'm  afraid  I  must  be 
making  tracks  for  South  Kensington.     Do 

52 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

you  know  it's  a  quarter  past  six,  and  they 
dine  at  seven  ? ' 

'  Never  mind  Mrs.  Brown's  dinner- 
hour,  dear.  I'll  stand  you  and  Fairfax  too, 
if  he's  disengaged,  a  dinner  at  Blanchard's. 
The  dad  will  understand  you're  with  me, 
eh,  Doll  ? ' 

'  Oh,  quite,'  said  the  girl,  radiantly. 
'  He  said  he  wouldn't  expect  me  till  you 
brought  me  back.  It  was  the  very  last 
thing  he  said  when  he  left  me  at  the  foot 
of  your  staircase.' 

'  Oh,  indeed,  so  the  dad  brought  you  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Deuced  unfatherly 
of  him  not  to  have  come  up  with  you.' 

Dolly  came  closer  and  put  a  soft  hand 
about  his  neck  caressingly. 

'  You  see,  dear,'  she  said  in  a  lowered 
voice,  '  it  wasn't  his  fault.  I  think  he 
would  have  liked  to  come.  But  then  Miss 
Challoner  was  with  us,  and  when  I  sug- 
gested their  coming  up  she  seemed  not  to 
like  the  idea.  I  don't  think  you  quite  hit 
it  off  with  her  the  other  night.' 

The  young  man  laughed  sharply. 

'  So  it  was  Miss  Challoner  was  the  im- 

53 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

pediment.  No,  Doll,  you  are  quite  right. 
I  did  not  at  all  hit  it  off  with  her  the  other 
night.' 

'  I  think  you're  unjust  to  her,  dear.  I  can't 
help  thinking  we  were  all  unjust  to  her.' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

'  It  can't  matter  to  her  what  we  think. 
Come,  Doll,  dear,  let  us  forget  Miss 
Challoner,  and  think  what  we  shall  have 
for  dinner.  Are  you  going  to  join  us, 
Fairfax  ? ' 

'  Delighted  ! '  answered  the  youth  with 
obvious  sincerity. 

They  .  had  the  daintiest  of  dinners, 
Arthur  consulting  his  sister's  pleasure  in  a 
way  that  went  far  to  explain  her  affection 
for  him  and  the  friendship  of  the  dowagers. 
Afterwards  they  drove  to  South  Kensington. 

'  I  wish  it  could  have  been  a  theatre, 
Doll,'  he  said;  'but  it  wouldn't  be  fair 
without  warning  the  dad,  and  besides  we 
sat  too  late  over  our  coffee.' 

He  was  glad  himself  it  was  not  a  theatre, 
for  he  had  been  chafing  all  the  afternoon 
and  wanted  to  be  alone  with  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, the  cat,  who  took  the  world  philo- 

54 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

sophically  himself,  and  never  bored  mere 
foolish  humanity  by  sympathy  with  its 
various  moods. 

'  No,  Doll,  we  won't  come  in,'  he  said, 
at  the  door  of  Albury  House.  '  At  least 
I  won't,'  he  added  hastily,  noticing  the 
sudden  cloud  on  the  two  faces.  '  I  dare- 
say Fairfax  can  afford  to  make  an  evening 
of  it,  as  he's  a  rising  junior  with  the  wool- 
sack in  view,  but  no  briefs.  I  can't  afford 
to  sacrifice  any  more  of  the  time  that 
belongs  to  my  clients  at  Dolly's  shrine. 
Oh,  don't  mind  me,  Fairfax ' —  for  the  in- 
genuous youth  was  looking  as  if  he  felt  he 
ought  to  go  but  very  much  wanted  to  stay. 

'  Very  well,  then,'  said  the  lover,  much 
relieved  ;  '  I  should  like  to  come  in  and  re- 
new my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Strangways, 
if  you  think  he  won't  mind.' 

Arthur  walked  off  quickly,  glad  to  find 
himself  alone.  He  walked  all  the  way  to 
the  Temple,  and  when  he  had  arrived 
flung  himself  moodily  on  his  sofa.  It 
comforted  him  to  dispossess  Nebuchad- 
nezzar and  fling  a  sofa-pillow  after  his 
ruffled  dignity. 

55 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  I've  had  a  facer,  my  friend,'  he  said, 
addressing  his  cat,  whose  back  was  turned 
majestically  towards  him.  '  I  wonder  if 
such  things  happen  in  your  world  ?  I  first 
make  a  sickening  ass  of  myself,  and  then, 
when  I  try  to  undo  it  by  the  most  abject 
attitude  conceivable,  a  young  lady  just 
slaps  me  on  the  face.  I  feel  jolly  small, 
Nebuchadnezzar,  jolly  small,  I  can  tell 
you.' 

He  hurled  his  slipper  towards  the  cat  as 
if  the  vindictiveness  of  the  act  comforted 
him.  He  did  not  often  take  his  own 
moods  seriously,  but  as  he  lay  on  his  couch 
while  the  shadows  gathered  in  the  low 
room,  and  smoked  and  brooded,  he  began 
to  feel  very  nasty  indeed  towards  Miss 
Challoner.  He  recalled  his  preparations 
for  the  afternoon,  and  grinned  in  savage 
derision  of  himself.  He  thought  of  the 
girl's  proud  face,  and  hated  the  contempt 
of  himself  which  he  conjectured  there.  He 
was  no  longer  the  gay,  impudent,  charming 
boy  of  Mrs.  Mellor  and  the  dowagers. 
The  primitive  man's  rage  at  an  insult, 
perhaps  something  else,  was  up  in  him,  and 

56 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

as  the  hours  passed  his  black  mood  grew  in 
intensity  of  colour. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  he 
heard  some  one  coming  upstairs,  whistling 
vigorously  '  My  Love's  like  a  Red,  Red 
Rose  ! ' 

'  Sounds  like  Fairfax,'  he  muttered,  '  and 
if  he's  coming  here  to  maunder  about  Doll, 
I'm  not  his  man  for  once.' 

But  the  lusty  kicking  at  his  door  which 
had  begun,  only  ceased  to  be  renewed  with 
fresh  vigour.  It  was  plainly  no  use  lying 
low  ;  Andrew  Fairfax  was  determined  to 
get  in.  Arthur  got  up  at  last  grumbling, 
and  flung  open  the  door. 

'There,  if  you  must  come  in,  don't 
bark  your  shins  over  anything  till  I  get  a 
light,'  he  said,  savagely.  '  I  wonder  you 
wouldn't  have  the  decency  to  conclude  I 
was  in  bed  or  something,  and  take  yourself 
off  from  where  plainly  you  weren't  wanted.' 

The  other  replied  with  a  great  roar  of 
laughter.  '  I'm  hanged  if  I'm  going  to 
quarrel  with  you,  you  old  misanthrope, 
this  night  of  all  nights.' 

Arthur  had  by  this  time  lit  his  lamp. 

57 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

1  Look  at  me,  man  ! '  said  Fairfax.  '  Do 
you  see  any  difference  in  me  since  this 
afternoon  ? ' 

'  None,'  replied  the  other,  crossly,  '  ex- 
cept that  you  look  a  little  more  fatuous 
than  usual.  I  suppose  you  mean  that  Doll 
has  taken  you,  though  how  you  managed 
it  between  Mrs.  Brown's  doorstep  and  Mrs. 
Brown's  drawing-room  is  beyond  me.' 

'  We  didn't,  you  old  duffer.  It  was  in 
the  blessed  drawing-room  itself.  Your  pater 
was  out  with  that  stunning  girl — who  isn't 
a  patch  on  Doll,  however.  They  came  in 
afterwards.  There  wasn't  a  soul  in  the 
drawing-room,  only  a  very  old  lady  stone 
deaf,  and  after  a  while  even  she  got  up  and 
went  out.' 

'  I'm  not  surprised,'  said  the  other,  sar- 
donically. 

'  Aren't  you  ?  Well,  maybe  you'll  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  there  hadn't  been  a 
word  said  till  she  did  go.  I  didn't  feel 
my  courage  anywhere  near  the  sticking- 
point,  and  I  don't  know  how  I  brought  it 
out.  But  after  the  very  first  I  didn't  feel 
afraid  of  Doll,  God  bless  her  ! ' 

58 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'No,  I  daresay  you  didn't.  But  spare 
me  further  details.  I'm  glad  ' — half  un- 
willingly— 'to  know  it's  all  right.' 

'  Thank  you,  old  fellow.  I  knew  you'd 
be  glad,  though  you're  not  exactly  in  a 
sympathetic  mood  to-night.  I  know  I'm 
not  fit  to  look  at  her,  but  I'll  take  great 
care  of  her.  You  don't  think  me  quite 
unworthy,  old  fellow  ? ' 

'  He  thinks  himself  unworthy,  but  wants 
other  people  to  be  assured  of  his  worth ! ' 
said  Arthur,  in  comic  despair.  '  Go  on,  my 
good  fellow.  Has  the  dad  any  idea  of  the 
state  of  affairs  ? ' 

'  I  think  so.  He  was  quite  cordial 
when  I  asked  if  I  might  see  him  to-morrow, 
and  as  for  that  beautiful  creature  who  came 
in  with  him,  I  think  she  saw  how  it  stood, 
for  she  looked  so  kindly  at  both  of  us.' 

'  I  daresay  it  didn't  require  acute  percep- 
tion to  see  how  things  stood.  Well,  are 
you  going  to  leave  me  to  my  interrupted 
slumbers  ? ' 

The  other  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

'  I  thought  you  would  have  been  so  glad, 
old  fellow.' 

59 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  So  I  am,  so  I  am,  but  all  the  world  is 
not  made  up  of  lovers.' 

'  No,  worse  luck  !  If  you  were  in  love 
you  would  be  more  sympathetic.  Why 
don't  you  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Challoner?' 

'  Oh,  hang  it  all,  go  to  bed,  man  ! '  said 
Arthur  in  uncontrollable  irritation.  '  Go 
and  sleep  it  off!  You'll  feel  better  in  the 
morning.'  He  pushed  him  out,  and  Fair- 
fax looked  ruefully  back  at  the  closed  door. 

'  Now  what's  the  matter  with  the  fellow? ' 
A  sudden  happy  inspiration  came  to  him. 
'  I  see.  He  and  Doll  are  so  fond  of  each 
other  that  he  can't  help  feeling  it  a  pang 
to  give  her  even  to  me.  Well,  I  ought  to 
be  able  to  understand  it.' 

The  next  evening  brought  Arthur  a 
rapturous  letter  from  Dolly  herself.  Every- 
thing was  settled  ;  the  dad  had  been  ador- 
ably kind  about  it  all,  and  she  was  in  the 
seventh  heaven.  They  were  all  going  down 
to  Gardenhurst  early  in  the  next  week. 
Andrew  could  get  off,  and  Beatrice  also, 
was  to  come. 

1  Beatrice ! '    quoted    this    very    sullen 

young  man.     '  So  it  has  come  to  Christian 

60 


O/r,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  I 

names  with  them.  Well,  if  Beatrice  is  there 
so  shall  I  be.  I  won't  have  dad  flaunting 
his  infidelity  under  Mrs.  Mellor's  nose. 
They'll  see  that  one  person  can  keep  his 
head,  and  can  be  faithful  to  old  ties  and 
old  friendships.  I  wonder  how  soon  she'll 
be  "  Beatrice  "  to  Frances  and  Sophia  too  ! ' 


6i 


CHAPTER    V 

All  the  week  following  Mr.  Strangways 
entertained  the  devil,  and  proved  himself 
so  excellent  a  host  that  his  visitor  was  in 
no  hurry  to  depart.  It  was  some  days 
before  he  could  fulfil  his  threat  of  dropping 
in  on  the  new  Garden  of  Eden,  as  he  sar- 
donically called  it,  and  meanwhile  he  had 
worked  himself  up  to  a  finer  indignation. 
There  was  a  portrait  of  his  mother  in  that 
study  at  Gardenhurst,  which  Duke  so  seldom 
used.  She  looked  shadowily  young  and 
pathetic,  with  her  fair  hair  drawn  in  long 
silken  strands  about  her  dreamy  eyes  and 
the  pure  oval  of  her  cheeks.  She  had  been 
dead  so  long  that  to  her  second  youngest 
son  she  was  as  a  being  enskied,  ensainted 
in  some  remote  past,  scarcely  more  real  to 
him  than  the  St.  Cecilias  and  St.  Agneses 
of    a    picture    gallery.      Yet    there    were 

62 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

moments  when  he  believed  that  his  wrath 
sprang  from  a  noble  jealousy  for  the  memory 
of  that  gentle  mother. 

'  You  have  so  many  visitors/  he  wrote 
to  his  sister  Frances,  about  the  middle  of  the 
week,  '  that  I  may  perhaps  be  in  the  way, 
but  I  have  a  slack  interval,  and  should  like 
to  run  down  on  Saturday  in  time  for  dinner.' 

The  fine  sarcasm  was  wasted  on  the 
lady.  She  took  it  to  be  Arthur's  jesting 
way,  and  did  not  trouble  to  reply.  When 
the  London  train  came  in  on  the  sleepy 
country  platform  on  the  Saturday  evening 
there  was-  no  one  in  sight  but  Fred,  who, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  smok- 
ing a  very  rakish-looking  pipe. 

'  Hullo,'  he  called  out,  on  seeing  his 
brother  alight,  '  thought  I'd  come  and  carry 
your  bag  for  you.' 

'  That's  decent  of  you,  boy.' 

'  More  decent  than  you  know,  for  we've 
been  picnicking  in  the  wood,  and  I've  torn 
myself  away  from  the  skirts  of  the  loveliest 
woman  in  England.' 

'  Indeed  ! '  drily.  '  Who  may  that  be 
in  your  sight  just  now  ? ' 

63 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

*  A  ripping  girl,  and  you'll  jolly  well 
drop  your  superior  air  when  you  see  her. 
She's  a  Miss  Challoner,  whom  the  dad's 
picked  up  in  London.' 

They  were  by  this  time  out  on  the 
country  road,  sweetly  overhung  by  the 
fringes  of  the  wood.  Arthur  stopped  to 
light  his  pipe,  and  having  kindled  it 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  bag. 

'  Turn  about,  old  fellow.' 

'  Not  so  jolly  likely,'  replied  the  other. 
'  I'm  in  no  end  of  training  just  now,  and 
must  keep  it  up.' 

'  And  so  you've  knocked  under  to  this 
Miss  Challoner  ? ' 

4  Knocked  under !  You  may  say  it. 
Every  soul  in  the  house  has  knocked 
under  to  her,  including  the  dogs.  Why, 
there's  Maida.  She's  got  a  litter  of  pups, 
jolly  little  beggars,  and  she  suspects  every 
one  who  goes  near  her  of  a  design  of 
stealing  them.  Well,  what  does  she  do 
yesterday  evening,  but  comes  slinking  out 
on  the  lawn  with  them  looking  as  pleased 
as  Punch,  and  edges  herself  and  them 
on    to   Miss  Chal loner's  skirt,   for  all   the 

64 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


world  as  if  she'd  known  her  all  her  life. 
You  should  see  Frances's  face,  for  she's 
always  in  a  taking  over  puppies — thinks 
they  rain  fleas,  poor  little  beggars.  But 
Miss  Challoner,  I  never  saw  such  a  jolly 
girl.  She  lets  the  little  brutes  walk  all 
over  her.  She's  not  like  a  girl  at  all. 
She  doesn't  mind  the  fleas,  not  she.' 

'She's  seems  to  have  pleased  you  as 
much  as  Maida  ?  ' 

The  boy  grinned  all  over  his  chubby 
face. 

'The  pleasing  is  not  all  on  one  side. 
I'll  let  you  into  a  bit  of  a  secret.  She's 
hugely  pleased  with  me.' 

'  Get  out,  you  conceited  young  beggar  !  ' 

'Oh,  all  right!  Just  keep  your  eyes 
open.  That  is  all.  I  could  say  more, 
only  it's  beastly  to  brag  about  a  lady's 
favour.' 

'  Mrs.  Mellor  not  in  it  ? ' 

'  I  haven't  seen  Mrs.  Mellor,  let  me 
see,  not  since  a  week  back.' 

'  You're  a  fickle  young  cub  then.' 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Garden- 
hurst,  and  the  dressing-bell  was  just  ringing 

65  5 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


through  the  house,  so  Arthur  saw  no  one 
till  he  came  into  the  drawing-room.  Miss 
Challoner  was  already  there,  and  was  stand- 
ing against  the  west  window  with  her  beauti- 
ful profile  outlined  against  the  gold  of  the 
sky.  She  made  the  slightest  possible  inclina- 
tion of  her  head  as  he  went  in.  It  seemed 
to  him  to  convey  a  contemptuous  dislike. 
He  could  not  see  how  the  pained  colour 
had  rushed  to  her  cheek  and  ebbed  again, 
leaving  her  very  pale.  She  had  been 
having  happy  times  at  Gardenhurst,  and 
now  it  seemed  to  her  that,  with  the  advent 
of  this  insolent  young  man,  it  was  all  over, 
and  the  sooner  she  went  back  to  the  un- 
homelike  boarding-house  the  better.  For 
the  first  time  since  her  father  died  and  her 
lover  deserted  her  for  a  rich  woman,  the 
ice  about  Beatrice  Challoner's  heart  had 
thawed  at  Gardenhurst.  They  were  so 
simple,  so  unworldly,  she  thought. 

She  was  as  little  practical  as  a  child, 
or  she  would  have  known  how  to  make 
her  life  sweeter  despite  her  small  income. 
She  had  been  chilled  and  lonely  and  faith- 
less since   that   old   trouble,  and  she   had, 

66 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

perhaps,  misjudged  a  world  which  does 
not  always  move  according  to  interested 
laws  of  conduct.  She  had  shrunk  from 
civilities  kindly  meant,  and  had  had  no 
eyes  for  mutely  proffered  friendships.  She 
drifted  into  boarding-houses  because  it  was 
the  easiest  thing  to  do.  In  Colonel 
Challoner's  lifetime  they  had  stayed  at 
Mrs.  Brown's,  and  it  seemed  easier  for  her 
to  go  on  staying  at  Mrs.  Brown's  than  to 
go  out  in  the  world  in  a  search  for  more 
homelike  surroundings.  Her  room  was 
under  the  roof  of  Albury  House.  In 
summer  The  breath  of  it  was  as  a  fiery 
furnace  ;  in  winter  the  cold  went  to  her 
heart.  Elsewhere  she  could  have  had 
luxuries  for  what  she  paid  Mrs.  Brown,  but 
she  did  not  know  it.  Her  father  had 
always  stood  between  her  and  the  world, 
and  when  he  was  gone  she  was  too  un- 
happy to  fling  herself  out  into  the  big 
lonely  place  alone. 

Duke  had  really  been  her  first  friend  for 
years.  Mrs.  Brown  was  proud  of  the 
patronage  of  the  Squire  of  Gardenhurst, 
and  had  been  eloquent  in  her  admiration 

67 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

of  him  when  he  spent  an  exquisite  May 
evening  in  playing  bezique  with  deaf  old 
Mrs.  Ransom  and  the  two  Misses  Fothergill, 
the  latter  melancholy  specimens  of  boarding- 
house  spinsters,  with  their  meanness,  their 
skittishness,  their  pretended  love  and  real 
hatred  for  each  other,  and  their  malice  as  re- 
garded the  better-looking,  better-endowed, 
and  younger  portion  of  the  world  at 
large.  Beatrice  Challoner  had  thought 
them,  especially  Miss  Rosa,  most  piteous 
specimens  of  womankind,  and  the  first 
attraction  she  felt  towards  Duke  Strangways 
was  in  the  observation  of  his  remarkable 
charity  towards  them.  Indeed  charity  it 
was  not,  it  was  an  unconsciousness  of  their 
need  of  charity. 

The  girl  had  remarked  the  dead  set  the 
two  spinsters  made  at  the  distinguished- 
looking  elderly  man,  who  seemed  to  find 
them  charming  instead  of  the  wilted  and 
seared  women  they  really  were.  Duke 
Strangways  idealised  all  women  if  they  had 
but  known  ;  and  he  could  scarcely  have 
defended  himself  more  adroitly  if  he  had 
guessed  their  schemes  about  him  than  by 

68 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

doing  what  he  did,  and  that  was  by  showing 
a  uniformly  gay  and  sweet-tempered  devo- 
tion to  every  woman  in  the  house.  If  he 
gladdened  Miss  Rosa's  heart  by  an  offering  of 
flowers  one  day,  it  was  Miss  Matilda's  turn 
the  next,  and  neither  could  feel  especially 
singled  out  when  another  day  brought  a 
dainty  basket  of  fruit  for  Mrs.  Ransom  or 
an  opera  ticket  for  Fraulein  Schneider,  who 
was  starved  for  music,  but  could  so  rarely 
afford  to  hear  good  music. 

The  sight  of  his  kindness  and  simplicity 
did  Beatrice  Challoner  good.  When,  with  a 
certain  humility  eminently  becoming,  he  had 
made  little  advances  towards  her,  the  girl  who 
at  Mrs.  Brown's  had  the  reputation  of  being 
very  haughty,  had  met  him  with  a  frank 
smile  of  kindness,  at  which  the  old  fellow's 
heart  took  fire.  From  that  time  he  devoted 
himself  to  Miss  Challoner,  with  a  difference. 
His  accepted  devotion  to  her  was  his  re- 
compense for  the  service,  often  somewhat 
exacted,  which  he  never  refused  to  the 
other  women.  His  kindness,  which  seemed 
to  demand  no  return,  the  girl  found  very 
restful.     His  slightly  old-fashioned   com- 

69 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

pliments  she  thought  charming.  She  liked 
the  evident  affection  he  had  for  her.  She 
had  known  a  young  man's  ardour,  a  young 
man's  fire  that  had  cooled  before  the  pros- 
pect of  a  little  privation,  and  she  discounted 
such  things. 

She  had  scarcely  noticed  how  Duke's 
devotion  to  herself  had  made  her  enemies 
of  the  two  Misses  Fothergill.  Her 
acquaintance  with  those  ladies  was  of  the 
slightest,  and  she  had  never  desired  to 
improve  it.  If  she  had  been  happier  she 
would  have  been  amused  perhaps  at  their 
affectations,  their  little  cheese- parings,  and 
the  frequent  sisterly  passages-at-arms  which 
enlivened  Mrs.  Brown's  dinner-table.  But 
as  things  had  been  she  had  only  felt  a  new 
disgust  for  humanity  in  contemplating  the 
pair.  Now,  as  she  watched  Marmaduke 
Strangways'  kindness  towards  them,  she 
felt  vaguely  troubled  within  herself  at  her 
previous  thoughts  of  them,  or  perhaps  it 
would  be  truer  to  say  at  her  contemptuous 
dismissal  of  them  from  her  thoughts.  Who 
was  she,  she  had  asked  herself,  to  judge  of 
them,  being  ignorant   of  the  poverty,  the 

70 


0/j,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

barrenness  of  life,  which  must  have  brought 
them  to  this  ?  She  wondered  drearily  what 
she  herself  might  come  to  be  after  a  quarter 
of  a  century  of  loneliness  and  the  demoral- 
isation of  incessant  small  economies.  But 
she  never  dreamt  that  the  spinsters  were 
regarding  her  in  the  light  of  a  possible 
rival  in  Duke  Strangways'  affections. 

She  was  vaguely  amused  when  Mrs. 
Ransom  came  and  sat  by  her  one  day,  and 
took  her  firm  young  hand  between  two 
withered  ones,  which  felt  like  very  soft  old 
kid. 

'Don-'t  you  mind  'em,  my  dear,'  said 
the  deaf  lady,  nodding  vigorously.  '  He's 
a  good  man  and  a  gentleman,  if  he  is  a 
little  old,  and  handsome  enough  to  make 
any  woman  proud  of  him.  You've  no  place 
in  a  boarding-house,  my  dear,  no  place  at 
all.  I  said  it  when  I  saw  you  first.  "  Where 
are  her  friends,  Mrs.  Brown  ? "  I  said  ; 
"where  are  the  sweethearts?"  Boarding- 
houses  are  for  birds  of  passage,  my  dear,  or 
for  poor  old  wrecks  high  and  dry  on  the 
shores  of  life,  like  myself,  and  those  two 
old  women  and  the  Fraulein.      You  won't 

7' 


0/j,  What  a  Plague  is  hove  ! 

let  'em  hinder  you,  my  dear?'  she  said, 
anxiously. 

Beatrice  did  not  quite  understand  what 
she  was  to  be  hindered  from,  or  who  would 
try  to  hinder  her,  but  she  was  accustomed 
to  Mrs.  Ransom's  confusion  of  ideas,  so 
she  nodded  reassuringly. 

'  That's  right,  my  dear,'  said  the  deaf 
lady,  much  relieved. 

But  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Ransom  had  had 
a  very  definite  idea  in  her  head,  and  the 
nature  of  that  idea,  had  only  sprung  on 
the  girl  like  a  lightning-flash  the  evening 
she  met  Arthur  Strangways  at  the  Criterion. 
The  revelation  came  upon  her  as  an  intoler- 
able humiliation  ;  but  when  the  first  shame 
and  sting  of  it  had  passed,  the  spirit  in  her, 
which  the  waters  of  calamity  had  failed  to 
quench,  reasserted  itself.  She  would  not 
give  up  the  kind  old  friend  who  had 
brought  new  pleasure  into  her  life  for  any- 
thing vulgar  minds  might  think.  And 
Dolly,  too  ;  it  was  hard  not  to  be  fond  of 
Dolly,  so  fresh,  so  sweet,  so  genuine. 
Father  and  daughter  had  brought  such 
real  pleasure  into  the  lonely  girl's  life  that 

72 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

she  was  not  minded  to  go  back  to  the  life 
without  them. 

Then  followed  the  days  when  Dolly  had 
taken  her  into  her  confidence  about  Andrew 
Fairfax.  Beatrice  Chal loner  was  a  girl  of 
natural  reticence,  and  circumstances  had 
made  her  additionally  so.  To  her,  speech 
about  her  inmost  thoughts  was  almost  im- 
possible. But  this  confidence  that  came  as 
naturally,  as  easily  as  a  bird  sings  his  love- 
song  for  all  the  listening  world,  seemed  to 
her  inexpressibly  sweet.  She  gave  sympathy 
with  both  hands.  She  had  seen  Andrew 
Fairfax,  and  liked  him  ;  and  in  her  heart 
she  longed  that  she  too  might  have  so 
sweet  things  to  say,  and  the  happy  con- 
fidence to  say  them. 

It  was  Dolly  who  had  won  her  over  to  go 
to  Gardenhurst.  Dolly  had  sent  reassuring 
accounts  of  her  ahead,  and  both  Frances 
and  Sophia  had  been  curious  to  see  her 
for  themselves.  They  were  really  simple 
and  trustful  folk,  and  ready  to  back 
their  feminine  intuitions  against  a  world  of 
evidence.  The  first  sight  of  her  in  her 
youth  and  beauty  had  disarmed  their  fears. 

73 


Ohy  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

This  was  no  man -trap,  no  manoeuvring 
spinster  on  the  hunt  for  a  rich  husband. 
Dearly  as  they  loved  their  father,  there  was 
perhaps  the  faintest  touch  of  the  disillusion- 
ment which  is  upon  us  all  where  our  nearest 
are  concerned.  They  could  not  believe 
that  he  could  really  in  himself  attract  a 
young  woman  ;  and  it  was  easy  to  revert  to 
their  somewhat  old-fashioned  idea  that  the 
young  were  for  the  young,  the  old  for  the 
old.  ' 

Beatrice  Challoner  was  quick  to  recognise 
that  they  trusted  her.  Once  her  heart  was  set 
at  rest  on  this  point  she  turned  to  be  happy 
at  home-like  Gardenhurst  with  the  eagerness 
of  one  long  starved  of  the  joy  of  her  youth. 
It  was  the  one  life  she  had  had  no  glimpse 
of;  for  all  her  days,  since  she  could  remember, 
she  had  been  wandering  about  the  Continent 
with  her  father  in  the  search  for  health.  It 
was  always  hotel  life  and  boarding-house 
life,  and  the  unhomely  streets  of  foreign 
cities,  and  much  dust  and  glare,  and  the 
faces  of  strangers  rapidly  succeeding  each 
other. 

But  the  ordered  quiet  at  Gardenhurst, 

74 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

how  exquisite  it  was !  Gardenhurst  in  a 
golden  June,  with  roses  under  the  eaves 
and  over  many  arbours,  and  the  song  of 
the  nightingale  when  the  blackbird  had 
whistled  the  world  asleep.  Gardenhurst 
as  fresh  within  as  without,  with  every 
window  open,  and  the  rooms  full  of  cool 
shade,  so  white  and  pure  with  the  chintz 
window  -  curtains  flapping  lazily  in  the 
June  air.  After  a  night  there  she  feJt  as  if 
her  skin  must  have  grown  as  soft  and 
bedewed  as  a  child's,  and  her  eyes  cool  and 
moistened,  as  though  she  had  bathed  them 
in  refreshment. 

The  sisters  had  seen  nothing  in  her 
during  that  week  to  make  them  re- 
consider their  first  impulsive  faith.  With 
them  she  was  gentle  and  considerate  as  she 
was  to  their  father.  But  her  prime  friend- 
ship was  with  the  school-boy  Fred. 

He,  of  them  all,  had  discovered  the 
youth  in  her,  which  had  lain  unsus- 
pected, unexhausted,  through  a  lonely 
childhood  and  a  disillusioned  girlhood. 
The  sisters  marvelled  at  this  preference, 
while   they   were   simply    pleased    with    it. 

75 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

The  boy  was  not  blase  of  country  life,  and 
he  was  delighted  to  find  a  companion  now 
that  Doll  was  '  always  mooning  round  with 
Fairfax.'  He  took  Miss  Challoner  fishing, 
and  taught  her  to  row.  He  presented  her 
with  his  own  favourite  out  of  Maida's 
puppies,  and  even  offered  to  induct  her  into 
the  science  of  ratting,  an  offer  she  grate- 
fully declined.  She  thoroughly  enjoyed  his 
egotistic  school-boy  talk,  and  was  always 
ready  with  her  ear  and  her  sympathy. 
Duke  looked  on  at  this  friendship  with  a 
gratification  which  was  the  last  item,  if  any 
were  needed,  to  complete  the  sisters'  trust- 
fulness. Perhaps  after  all  he  had  mistaken 
his  feelings  towards  the  girl,  and  had  never 
really  felt  anything  for  her  except  the  tender 
kindness  which  it  is  in  the  heart  of  a  man 
to  feel  for  any  young  and  lonely  woman. 

Now,  said  the  girl  bitterly  to  herself, 
this  idyllic  life  would  be  spoilt.  Perhaps 
Duke  was  partly  to  blame  for  her  very  in- 
different opinion  of  his  younger  son.  The 
one  drop  of  gall  in  the  elder  man's  gentle- 
ness of  nature  was  the  irritation  Arthur's 
manner  towards  him  had  caused,  a  cumula- 

76 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

tive  irritation,  which  had  reached  its  highest 
point  after  that  afternoon  when  he  had  been 
so  disrespectfully  tickled  over  his  father's 
love  affairs. 

She  was  saying  to  herself  that  now  every- 
thing was  spoilt,  when  Andrew  Fairfax  came 
into  the  room,  looking,  for  all  the  world 
to  see,  a  happy  lover. 

'So  you've  got  down,  old  fellow,'  he 
cried,  heartily.  '  A  jolly  change,  hey,  from 
that  blazing,  burning  old  bumble-bee, 
London?  Oh,  by  the  way,  you  don't 
know  Miss  Challoner,  do  you  ? ' 

'  ThaiTk  you,'  said  his  friend,  coldly  ; 
'  Miss  Challoner  and  I  have  met  before.' 

Andrew  Fairfax  looked  from  that 
inscrutable  face  to  the  averted  profile 
against  the  window-pane,  with  an  uneasy 
sense  in  his  good-natured  mind  of  some- 
thing being  wrong. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Frances  was  in  her  still-room  the  next 
morning  when  her  brother  came  sauntering 
in.  The  Misses  Strangways  kept  up  the  old 
admirable  custom  of  brewing  ale,  and  mak- 
ing wines  of  elderberry,  cowslip,  and  black- 
berry. They  were  skilled  in  herbs,  and 
their  orange-flower  water,  from  the  recipe 
of  a  Madam  Strangways  under  the  Second 
Charles,  was  unexcelled.  Arthur  looked 
round  at  the  well-stocked  shelves  with  a 
memory  of  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  the 
treasure-house  the  still-room  had  then 
seemed  to  him.  The  memory  ought  to 
have  been  a  pleasant  one,  but  the  young 
man  did  not  look  pleasant.  His  lips  were 
set  so  firmly  that  the  laughing  lines  about 
them  had  quite  disappeared ;  his  eyes 
looked  sullen. 

Frances  looked  up  at  him  from  where 

?8 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

she  sat  busily  engaged  labelling  a  number  of 
bottles.  The  air  of  the  place  was  aromatic 
and  delicious.  She  smiled  at  him  her  kind, 
elder-sisterly  smile. 

'  Have  you  come  to  help  me,  Arthur, 
or  to  beg  for  a  glass  of  blackberry  wine,  or 
a  pot  of  red  currant  jam,  as  you  used  in 
old  days  ? ' 

'  Neither,'  said  the  young  man,  seating 
himself  in  the  window-seat,  where  the  light 
flickered  through  a  network  of  green  leaves 
and  an  interlacing  sheet  of  wire  destined  to 
keep  the  flies  from  the  honeyed  things 
within.    ■ 

Something  in  his  tone  made  his  sister 
turn  round. 

'  Are  you  not  well,  Arthur? '  she  asked, 
affectionately.  '  We  all  thought  you  were 
so  silent  last  night,  and  you  certainly  do 
look  out  of  sorts.' 

( Don't  bother  about  me,'  said  the  young 
man,  ungraciously.  '  I'm  all  right  ;  but  I 
must  confess  it's  not  the  same  thing  to  me  to 
come  to  Gardenhurst  and  find  that  girl  here.' 

'  That  girl !  Do  you  mean  Miss 
Challoncr  r ' 

79 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  Yes,  I  mean  Miss  Challoner.  You  are 
a  woman  of  common-sense,  Frances.  Why 
did  you  invite  to  our  house  a  girl  of  whom 
no  one  knows  anything  except  what  she 
chooses  to  tell,  and  whose  only  recom- 
mendation in  our  sight  is  that  our  father  is 
head  over  ears  in  love  with  her  ? ' 

Frances  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

'  I  don't  know,'  she  said,  lamely.  '  Dolly 
liked  her  so  much.  And  we  have  thought 
since  she  came  down  that  everything  Dolly 
said  was  true.  She  doesn't  seem  to  en- 
courage the  dad  in  that  v/ay.  She  seems 
far  more  taken  up  with  Fred.' 

'  My  dear  sister,  don't  you  see  that  hav- 
ing won  the  dad  first  of  all,  her  next  move 
was  to  win  over  the  rest  of  you  ?  Perhaps 
she  knows  that  the  dad  has  a  way  of  giving 
in  to  his  children  about  his  matrimonial 
schemes,  perhaps  not.  In  any  case  it  was 
her  interest  to  be  friends  with  you,  and, 
by  Jove,  she  has  proved  herself  jolly  deep. 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  she'd  have  bam- 
boozled every  soul  of  you  in  such  a  little 
time.' 

'  Dear  Arthur  !  But  she  seems  so  gentle, 
80 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

so  modest.  And  then  she  is  so  beautiful. 
At  her  age  she  surely  need  not  despair  of  a 
marriage  more  suitable  to  her  in  every  way 
than  marriage  with  a  man  who  might  be 
her  father  ? ' 

'  0  Sancta  Simplicitas  ! '  responded  the 
youth,  sourly.  '  It  was  time  for  me  to  come 
here  and  stop  these  idyllics.  If  something's 
not  done,  take  my  word  for  it,  she'll  be 
Mrs.  Strangways  before  three  months  have 
gone  over  our  heads.' 

'  But  what  am  I  to  do  ? '  said  his  sister, 
who  was  beginning  to  take  the  alarm. 
'  She's  here  now,  and  we  can't  tell  her  to 
go.  She  has  seemed  so  happy  too,  poor 
girl.' 

'  I  daresay.  She's  seen  her  schemes 
prospering  beyond  her  wildest  hopes.' 

1  My  dear,  I  hope  you're  not  wronging 
her.' 

'  Look  at  me,  Frances,  and  tell  me  which 
of  us  is  most  likely  to  be  right,  you,  who 
live  here  and  meet  no  one,  only  those  whom 
you  thoroughly  know,  or  I,  whose  profes- 
sion brings  me  in  contact  with  all  kinds  of 
shady  things  in  human  nature.' 

81  6 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love! 

'  Oh,  I  daresay  you  know  best,  dear 
Arthur,  though,  if  your  profession  is  going 
to  make  you  suspicious  and  distrustful,  I 
shall  be  sorry  for  it.' 

'  You  haven't  hitherto  found  me  so,  and 
now  my  distrust  is  well  founded.' 

At  this  moment  Sophia  came  in,  and 
something  of  the  conversation  was  repeated 
to  her.  Sophia  was  slower  to  move  in  one 
direction  or  another  than  her  sister  "Frances, 
and  was  more  difficult  to  convince  of  Miss 
Challoner's  turpitude. 

'She  hasn't  flung  herself  at  the  dad 
since  she  came  here,'  she  argued.  'She  has 
seemed  twice  as  happy  grubbing  about  with 
Fred  after  his  dogs  and  rabbits  and  birds.' 

'  She  has  felt  secure,  my  dear.  She 
knows  nothing  of  Mrs.  Mellor,  for  example. 
I  gathered  from  Fred  that  you  had  been 
neglecting  that  very  charming  woman  for 
this  new  friendship  of  yours.' 

'  H'm  ! '  said  Sophia.  '  We  can  test  that. 
I  don't  know  how  it  is  that  we  haven't  seen 
Mrs.  Mellor  for  a  week.  Let  us  have  her 
over,  and  see  whether  it  will  make  any 
difference.' 

82 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


'But  the  dad  may  neglect  Mrs.  Mellor 
for  her,'  argued  Frances. 

'  He  won't,'  said  Arthur,  shortly.  '  I'll 
see  to  that.' 

Now  this  test  might  have  come  to 
naught  if  Fred  had  not  happened  that 
morning  to  have  gone  away  with  a  school- 
boy friend  for  a  couple  of  days.  Nothing 
probably  would  have  drawn  him  from  Miss 
Chal loner's  side  except  the  attraction  his 
friend  offered  him — a  two  days'  cricket- 
match,  with  no  less  a  person  than  '  W.  G.' 
playing  for  the  visitors. 

With  the  school-boy's  departure  the 
house  had  become  lonelier  for  Beatrice. 
Duke  was  there  as  ever  courteous  and  ready, 
but  his  elder  daughters  had  their  multi- 
farious duties  all  the  morning,  and  Dolly 
was  usually  wandering  about  with  her  lover. 
A  day  ago  Beatrice  would  have  had  no 
difficulty  in  making  herself  happy,  but  to- 
day, with  the  unfriendly  figure  of  Arthur 
looming  in  the  background,  she  felt  ill  at 
ease.  All  at  once  she  realised  how  little 
she  had  in  common  with  Duke's  daughters. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  housewifely  things 

83 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

and  the  village  interests  that  made  up  the 
engrossing  part  of  their  lives.  She  had  not 
realised  this  before  ;  but  as  she  sat  with 
them  on  the  lawn  in  the  afternoon  she 
confessed  to  an  ignorance  of  all  house- 
keeping matters  which  drew  forth  a  mild 
reproof  from  Frances.  Mild  as  it  was,  it 
would  not  have  been  uttered  yesterday  ;  and 
the  girl  felt  a  new  element  in  the  atmos- 
phere, something  vaguely  unfriendly  and 
disapproving.  It  made  her  after  a  little 
while  leave  the  two  industrious  ladies  to 
their  needlework,  and  stroll  away  by  herself 
in  the  direction  of  the  Home  Paddocks. 
Duke  was  absent  attending  to  his  magis- 
terial duties.  Arthur  had  gone  to  carry  his 
sister's  message  to  Mrs.  Mellor. 

When  she  had  left  them  Frances  felt  a 
little  uneasy. 

'  I'm  afraid  I've  hurt  her,'  she  said, 
remorsefully.  '  After  all  it  isn't  her  fault 
if  she  knows  nothing  of  housekeeping,  and 
has  not  the  vaguest  idea  of  the  responsi- 
bilities which  we  assumed  so  naturally.' 

*  No,'  said  Sophia, '  it  isn't  her  fault,  but 
it  will  be  bad  for  Gardenhurst  if  Arthur's 

84 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

prophecy  comes  true.  Everything  about 
Gardenhurst  is  accustomed  to  personal 
interest  and  personal  supervision.' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  think  we  need  face  that 
possibility  yet,'  said  Frances,  nervously,  and 
then  added  :  '  It  is  strange  how  Arthur  has 
upset  my  mind  about  the  girl.  Yesterday 
I  felt  quite  easy,  and  to-day  I  can't  help 
wishing  her  a  thousand  miles  away.' 

'  Keep  on  wishing,'  said  Sophia,  dryly, 
'  and  she  won't  be  able  long  to  stay  in  your 
immediate  neighbourhood.  All  the  same 
I'm  not  altogether  convinced  by  that  boy's 
cocksureness.  I'll  wait  till  I  see  for  my- 
self; but  I  mean  to  keep  my  eyes  open  for 
the  next  few  days.  One  can't  be  too 
cautious  when  there  is  a  question  of  a  step- 
mother—  a  young  one  too,  and  about  as 
fitted  to  take  up  our  place  at  Gardenhurst 
as  Maida  would  be.' 

Frances  shuddered.  She  was  a  thorough- 
going housewife,  and  was  honestly  proud  of 
the  exquisite  manner  in  which  her  father's 
house,  under  her  supervision,  was  kept. 
For  a  moment  her  mind  ran  over  her 
treasures.     There  was  the  linen-room,  with 

85 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

its  piles  of  damask  and  fresh  linen.  She 
knew  every  darn  in  those  precious  piles  of 
napery  ;  she  could  put  her  hand  in  the  dark 
on  any  article  where  it  lay  between 
strewings  of  lavender.  She  thought  of  the 
china  closet  with  its  famous  dinner-service 
of  Spode,  and  its  Worcester  tea-cups.  She 
thought  of  her  still-room  and  preserve  cup- 
board, of  her  dairy  and  plate-chest.  To 
let  all  these  fall  to  incompetent  hands  would 
be,  she  felt,  an  extreme  bitterness.  She 
sighed  heavily  with  a  great  longing  that 
Miss  Challoner  was  safely  from  under  the 
roof  of  Gardenhurst,  and  for  the  first  time 
the  alternative  thought  of  Mrs.  Mellor  as 
a  wife  for  her  father  flashed  across  her 
mind  and  found  a  moment's  entertainment 
there. 

An  hour  before  dinner  Arthur  came 
strolling  across  the  lawn  towards  them. 

'  Yes,  Mrs.  Mellor  will  come.  I  offered 
to  wait  for  her,  but  she  said  I'd  distract  her 
mind  while  she  was  dressing.' 

He  stood  for  a  minute  or  two,  while 

his   lips    curved    in    a    rather   disagreeable 

smile. 

86 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'So  Miss  Challoner  has  deserted  you, 
my  dears.  I  came  upon  her  and  the  dad 
strolling  in  the  elm-walk.  The  dad  had 
Gipsy's  bridle  over  his  arm.  They  looked 
as  if  they'd  been  at  it  a  long  time.' 

The  sisters  looked  at  him  in  dismay. 

'And  I,'  said  Frances,  bitterly,  'was 
thinking  I'd  hurt  her  feelings,  and  all  the 
time,  I  suppose,  she  left  us  here  because 
she'd  promised  to  meet  the  dad  on  his  way 
from  Sutclifre.' 

'It  looks  pretty  bad/  agreed  Sophia, 
gloomily. 

The  dressing-bell  had  rung  before  Duke 
and  the  unconscious  Beatrice  came  back  to 
the  house.  When  the  girl  had  dressed 
hastily  and  come  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  she  found  every  one  waiting  for  her. 
Mrs.  Mellor  was  there,  and  looking  very 
well  indeed  in  a  gown  of  soft  red  crepe, 
which  showed  off  her  fair  and  dimpled 
shoulders  prettily.  Mrs.  Mellor  could  al- 
ways afford  to  dress  young,  for  she  had 
kept  her  girlish  roundness  and  something 
of  girlish  slimness. 

When    Beatrice    came    in,    feeling    shy 

87 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

and  depressed,  the  move  was  made  for 
dinner.  She  put  her  hand  rather  limply 
on  Arthur  Strangways'  proffered  arm. 
When  they  had  taken  their  places  she  was 
glad  to  find  Andrew  Fairfax  beside  her. 
The  lovers  were  the  only  people  she  could 
feel  sure  had  not  altered  towards  her  since 
yesterday.  She  made  very  little  response 
to  her  escort's  civilities,  and  ate  little.  She 
had  found  the  heat  of  the  day  trying.  She 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Mellor  watched  her  with 
curiosity,  and  wondered  why.  She  did  not 
connect  it  with  Duke's  anxiety  over  her,  as 
she  sent  away  plate  after  plate,  with  the 
food  scarcely  tasted. 

If  she  could  have  consulted  her  own 
feelings  in  the  matter  she  would  have  left 
Gardenhurst  at  once.  Why,  she  thought 
of  that  high-up  room  at  Mrs.  Brown's  as 
a  happy  and  peaceful  refuge  now.  But 
she  felt  she  must  leave  in  the  conventional 
manner,  and  not  as  if  she  had  detected  that 
faint,  almost  impalpable  coldness. 

She  had  no  anger  against  any  one  but 
Arthur.     Him  she  scarcely  dared  to  look 

at,  so  intolerable  did  she  find  his  cool  glance 

88 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

and  mocking  smile.  When  he  jested  with 
Mrs.  Mellor  across  the  table  she  felt  that 
his  voice  disturbed  her.  But  her  want  of 
appetite  was  the  only  sign  she  gave  of  in- 
ward discomfort. 

Her  anger  against  her  neighbour  acted 
in  a  manner  as  a  spur.  As  the  meal  went 
on  her  head  grew  more  erect,  her  eyes 
brighter.  She  was  furious  with  herself  for 
having  been  persuaded  to  come  to  Garden- 
hurst,  but  at  least  she  would  die  game, 
would  leave  the  place  not  as  one  who  had  not 
been  a  most  honoured  and  welcome  guest. 

So  after  dinner  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
led  to  the  piano  by  that  hateful  man,  as 
she  termed  Duke's  second  son.  Arthur 
stood  by  her  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her 
music  while  she  sang  song  after  song,  or 
wandered  off  into  dreamy  music  that  con- 
sorted well  with  the  quiet  June  gloaming. 
She  had  braced  herself  up  to  show  no  sign 
of  the  torture  she  endured  from  her  enemy 
and  his  unkindly  attentions.  If  you  could 
have  looked  into  the  room  you  would  have 
said  the  scene  was  ideally  pleasant  and 
homelike. 

89 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Duke  and  Mrs.  Mellor  were  playing 
bezique  by  the  light  of  a  rose-shaded  silver 
lamp  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  room.  Duke's 
daughters  had  drawn  their  chairs  to  the 
French  window,  where  Frances  had  gone 
comfortably  asleep,  and  Sophia  sat  rigidly 
knitting,  and  gazing  out  on  the  green 
twilight  in  the  garden.  The  lovers  had 
strolled  away  down  the  garden  path,  as 
they  had  done  every  evening  after  dinner 
since  their  arrival. 

But  all  at  once  Beatrice's  fortitude  gave 
out.  She  was  not  a  conventional  woman, 
and  was  no  adept  at  playing  a  part,  and  she 
could  endure  no  longer  what  she  felt  to 
be  Arthur  Strangways'  insolent  attentions. 
She  stood  up  quickly  and  looked  about 
the  room.  She  did  not  feel  well,  and  had 
a  horror  of  making  a  scene.  She  looked 
towards  Sophia,  but  Sophia  did  not  look 
inviting.  Dolly  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
She  noticed  that  Duke  had  turned  towards 
her  anxiously,  and  she  went  up  to  him  in 
sudden  appeal. 

'  I   am   tired,'   she   said.     '  I   think  the 

heat  has  tried  me  a  little.' 

90 


CM,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Duke  stood  up  at  once,  and  drew  her 
hand  through  his  arm  protectingly. 

'  You  will  be  the  better  for  a  little  air,' 
he  said.  '  Mrs.  Mellor,  I'll  put  this  boy 
in  my  place  for  a  little  while.  Come, 
Arthur ! ' 

It  was  all  very  quiet,  and  had  scarcely 
attracted  the  attention  of  Sophia  at  her 
distant  window.  The  changing  of  places 
was  done  quickly,  and  Duke  led  the  girl 
into  the  verandah.  He  put  her  in  a  com- 
fortable chair,  and  wrapped  her  shawl  about 
her  with  the  tender  deference  and  deftness 
which,  showed  he  was  used  to  taking  care 
of  women.  Then  he  fetched  a  cushion 
and  a  footstool  for  her  from  the  drawing- 
room,  and  she  rested  in  the  cool,  quiet,  and 
dark,  with  no  sense  of  anything  but  the 
immediate  relief  it  was  to  be  there. 

Sophia  had  meanwhile  come  out  from 
her  dreaminess,  and,  becoming  aware  of  the 
state  of  things,  had  touched  Frances  lightly  on 
the  knee.  The  elder  sister  was  broad  awake 
in  a  moment.  Sophia  pointed  silently  at 
the  two  heads  in  the  lamplight  where  Arthur 
had  soberly  taken  his  father's  place. 

9* 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  Where  is  the  dad  ? '  asked  Frances, 
sitting  bolt  upright,  and  looking  as  scared 
as  if  Duke  had  eloped. 

'  Hush  !  at  the  other  end  of  the  ver- 
andah with  that  girl.' 

Poor  Beatrice !  She  had  given  con- 
firmation, strong  as  Holy  Writ,  to  the 
words  of  her  enemy. 


92 


CHAPTER   VII 

The  next  day  was  the  day  of  the  picnic  ; 
not  the  simple  family  picnics  which  the 
Strangways  indulged  in  all  the  summer 
through,  and  the  pleasure  of  which  con- 
sisted in  having  their  lunch  out  of  doors, 
and  their  tea  under  difficulties,  but  a 
slightly  more  elaborate  excursion.  Deep 
in  Alio  Wood,  half  a  dozen  miles  from 
Gardenhurst,  was  Alio  Water,  and  by  the 
banks  of  the  little  river  that  fed  it  there 
were  the  ruins  of  a  Benedictine  priory. 
Happy  people  the  monks  must  have  been, 
buried  in  this  green  solitude,  with  a  few 
fields  of  their  own  clearing  round  about 
for  the  convent  kine  and  the  convent  hay 
and  corn  ;  with  the  gentle  trout  stream 
flowing  below  their  walls,  and  the  woods 
full  of  game. 

Alio    Water    was    a    favourite   picnick- 

93 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

ing  place  of  the  neighbourhood,  but  as 
the  neighbourhood  only  numbered  a  few 
families  of  gentlefolk,  you  might  nine  times 
out  of  ten  have  the  waterside  to  yourself, 
and  the  tenth  time  the  intruders  would  be 
of  the  most  apologetic  and  retiring  order. 

Beatrice  woke  up  the  morning  of  the 
picnic  with  a  dread  of  what  the  day 
might  bring  forth.  When  it  had  been 
planned  a  few  days  ago,  she  had  promised 
Fred  that  she  would  drive  with  him  in  the 
governess-cart,  and  be  his  companion  in 
the  walk  through  the  woods  to  the  Abbey. 
Then  all  had  been  so  different,  and  she  had 
looked  forward  with  the  eagerness  of  one 
who  had  been  starved  of  pleasures  to  the 
long  day  in  the  open  air,  and  the  thousand 
and  one  little  pleasures  she  should  share 
with  the  boy,  who  was  so  fresh  and  expert 
a  guide  to  the  secrets  of  English  woods. 
Well,  at  all  events,  Fred  would  come  back 
to-morrow,  and  she  should  be  no  longer 
friendless.  She  could  not  well  leave  before 
Saturday,  but  with  Fred  in  the  house  things 
would  be  different.  She  and  Fred  could 
keep  much  out   of  doors  and   away  from 

94 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

the  detestable  brother.  His  would  be  a 
harmless  and  helpful  advocacy ;  she  felt 
instinctively  that  Duke's  friendship  only 
made  her  position  more  awkward. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  did  her  no  good 
that  morning.  The  waggonette  and  a  dog- 
cart were  in  requisition,  and  when  these 
had  drawn  up  before  the  hall  door,  Duke 
made  a  somewhat  conspicuous  attempt  to 
secure  Beatrice  for  his  companion  in  the 
dog-cart.  Every  one  noticed  it,  and  Mrs. 
Mellor,  looking  charming  in  her  gray  cloak, 
trimmed  with  silver,  tapped  an  impatient 
foot  on  the  doorstep. 

'  Are  you  bent  on  the  dog-cart,  dad  ? ' 
asked  Arthur,  suavely. 

'  Yes,  I  know  how  to  handle  Sheila  better 
than  you,  my  lad.' 

'  Oh,  very  well,  though  I  had  looked 
forward  to  giving  Miss  Challoner  a  fast 
spin.     Come,  Mrs.  Mellor.' 

The  lady  flashed  a  quick  glance,  which 
might  have  meant  understanding  and  per- 
haps gratitude,  and  mounted  quickly  to 
the  seat  in  the  dog-cart.  Duke  said  some- 
thing under  his  breath  that  no  one  heard 

95 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

but  himself,  and  probably  registered  another 
black,  mark  in  his  mind  against  his  son,  but 
he  mounted  to  Mrs.  Mellor's  side  as  briskly 
and  beamingly  as  if  her  company  of  all 
others  was  the  thing  he  had  been  longing  for. 

Arthur  drove  the  waggonette,  and  the 
final  arrangement  of  seats  left  Frances  beside 
him,  and  Sophia  and  Beatrice  Challoner 
behind.  The  lovers  had  jogged  off"  earlier 
in  the  governess-cart  with  the  provisions, 
very  happy  in  any  plan  that  secured  to 
them  their  sweet  solitude  a  deux.  They 
had  Shag,  the  old  Shetland  pony,  who 
required  an  early  start  if  he  was  to  arrive 
in  time  for  lunch,  and  a  small  army  of 
dogs  gambolled  behind  the  cart,  or  rode 
when  soft-hearted  Dolly  thought  they  were 
in  need  of  a  rest. 

As  Arthur  assisted  Beatrice  to  her  place 
he  noticed  with  a  momentary  misgiving  that 
her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  For  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  afterwards  he  drove  in  silence, 
feeling  himself  "no  end  of  a  sweep."  Then 
his  familiar  spirit  came  back  to  him  and 
whispered  that  these  tears  were  because  her 
plans  were  going  wrong  and  she  felt  Garden- 

96 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

hurst  slipping  from  her  grasp.  A  girl,  he 
said  to  himself,  who  could  contemplate  a 
mercenary  marriage  with  an  old  man  did 
not  deserve  to  be  fought  with  gloves. 
Nay,  perhaps  those  tears  were  meant  to 
win  him  over.  He  had  heard  of  women 
of  her  type  who  could  weep  at  will. 

The  girl  kept  silence  through  the  drive. 
Now  and  again  her  attention  was  called  to 
some  object  of  interest  on  the  way,  and  she 
looked  at  it  as  bidden,  but  offered  no  com- 
ment. If  she  had  only  known,  Frances 
and  her  sister  were  ascribing  this  silence 
to  vexation  at  being  supplanted  by  Mrs. 
Mellor,  and  were  mentally  thanking  their 
brother  for  his  warning  words  of  wisdom, 
which  had  resulted  in  opening  their  eyes 
fully  to  her  real  character. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  picnick- 
ing ground,  where  they  found  the  lovers 
tardily  engaged  in  setting  out  the  luncheon, 
Arthur  constituted  himself  Beatrice's  at- 
tendant. It  had  the  effect  of  putting 
Duke  entirely  out  of  court,  and  forcing 
him  to  confine  his  attentions  to  Mrs. 
Mellor.      In  spite  of  her  will  and  courage 

97  7 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


the  girl  began  to  look  rather  miserable. 
Sophia  afterwards  commented  on  this  to 
Frances. 

'  She  looked  just  like  a  girl  who  had  lost 
her  lover,  or  whose  lover  had  deserted  her 
before  her  eyes  for  another  girl  ;  and  all 
the  while  there  was  Arthur  doing  every- 
thing possible  for  her.  Now  is  it  con- 
ceivable that  any  ordinary,  good,  natural 
girl  wouldn't  prefer  a  young  fellow  like 
him  to  the  dad,  however  pleasant  the  dear 
dad  may  be  ?  ' 

Frances  assented  that  it  was  not  con- 
ceivable. 

After  the  lunch  it  was  proposed  that 
they  should  walk  to  the  ruins.  The  elder 
sisters  cried  off.  They  had  seen  the  ruins 
so  often  and  the  day  was  hot  for  walking. 
They  would  sit  by  Alio  Water  and  rest, 
and  have  the  tea  ready  by  the  time  the 
others  returned. 

'  Am  I  to  have  charge  of  you,  my  dear 
Miss  Challoner  ?  '  asked  Duke,  with  a 
hope  that  this  time  Arthur  would  not 
interfere.  He  had  enjoyed  his  drive  with 
Mrs.   Mellor,  but  after  all  he  could  have 

98 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Mrs.  Mellor  any  day,  and  she  had  not  the 
fascination  of  the  younger  woman. 

Beatrice  was  about  to  assent  eagerly.  It 
was  to  escape  to  a  friend  she  trusted  from 
an  atmosphere  charged  with  enmity.  But 
this  time  it  was  his  daughter  Sophia  who 
intervened.     Her  voice  had  a  sharp  ring. 

'  Dearest  papa,'  she  said — it  was  only 
when  Duke's  children  were  very  angry 
with  him  that  they  called  him  '  papa ' — 
'  you  will  take  Mrs.  Mellor  of  course. 
Let  the  young  people  go  together.  You 
could  not  expect  to  be  as  good  a  guide 
for  Miss  Challoner  as  your  son.' 

Duke's  eyes  flashed,  and  for  a  moment 
rebellion  seemed  imminent.  Mrs.  Mellor 
winced  a  little  at  the  gauchete  of  Sophia's 
speech  as  regarded  herself,  but  concluded 
to  forgive  the  dear  girl  under  the  circum- 
stances. Beatrice  Challoner  turned  away, 
and  then  said  in  a  very  low  voice — 

'  May  I  stay  with  you,  Miss  Strang- 
ways  ?  I  do  not  feel  at  all  inclined  for  a 
walk.' 

*  Oh,  but  you  must  see  the  Abbey,'  cried 
both  sisters  simultaneously.     *  And  Arthur 

99 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

is  such  a  deJightful  guide.     He  knows  the 
history  of  everything.' 

She  looked  around  a  little  forlornly. 
She  had  a  momentary  wild  idea  of  flinging 
herself  on  the  mercy  of  Dolly  and  Andrew 
Fairfax,  but  a  consideration  of  what  the 
others  would  think  deterred  her.  She 
turned  dumbly,  and  without  looking  at 
Arthur  Strangways  went  slowly  beside  him 
up  the  winding  path  from  the  water-side. 

Once  or  twice  she  turned  to  look  back. 
Duke  and  Mrs.  Mellor  were  coming  behind 
her  at  a  little  distance.  Her  longing  to 
escape  from  Arthur  Strangways'  company 
was  so  great  that  she  made  an  appeal  to  him. 

'  Let  us  wait  for  the  others,'  she  said. 
'  Please,  I  should  like  to  wait  for  them.' 

Arthur  Strangways  set  his  teeth. 

'  They  do  not  want  us,'  he  said,  coldly. 
'  I'm  afraid  you  must  be  contented  with 
my  companionship.' 

He  knew  the  wood  thoroughly.     They 
were  by  this  time  out  of  sight  of  Duke  and 
Mrs.   Mellor.     From  the  path  a  winding 
grass-grown  way  diverged  here  and  there. 
These  were  the  woodcutters'   paths,   little 

IOO 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

used  by  other  pedestrians,  and  full  of  rough 
places  and  old  stumps  of  trees.  But 
Arthur  Strangways  was  in  a  merciless 
mood.  He  knew  the  paths  that  would 
lead  them  by  a  long  detour  to  the  ruin. 
That  would  effectually  prevent  their  joining 
or  being  joined  by  Duke  and  his  com- 
panion. He  led  the  way  down  one  of 
those  winding  paths,  exquisitely  dappled 
with  light  and  shade.  The  girl  followed 
unquestioningly. 

It  was  certainly  a  long  detour,  and  little 
was  said^  between  the  pair.  It  seemed  to 
Beatrice  Challoner  that  they  walked  for 
hours.  She  had  never  been  accustomed  to 
much  walking,  and  not  at  all  to  such  rough 
walking  as  this.  One  thing  she  was  grateful 
for.  Her  companion  tramped  along  in  a 
moody  silence,  and  did  not  offer  her  any 
of  those  half-mocking  attentions  which  she 
had  found  it  so  hard  to  accept. 

Sometimes  they  emerged  into  clearings 
upon  which  the  June  sun  shone  blindingly. 
The  day  had  become  sultry  with  the  heat 
of  three  o'clock,  the  hottest  hour  of  a  day 
of  heat.      They  plunged   again   from   those 

IOI 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

golden  intervals  into  paths  which,  for  a 
moment,  after  coming  from  the  bright 
sunshine,  seemed  black  as  night. 

They  had  entered  one  such  leafy  tunnel,, 
down  which  Arthur  was  tramping  steadily 
— a  little  ahead  of  his  weary  companion. 
If  he  had  seen  how  tired  she  looked  he 
might  have  been  moved  to  take  compassion 
on  her,  but  for  a  long  time  he  had  not 
glanced  at  her  face. 

Presently  he  was  startled  by  a  sharp  cry, 
and  turned  round  just  in  time  to  see  Miss 
Challoner  sink  down  a  limp  heap  of  black 
drapery.  He  sprang  to  her  side  in  quick 
alarm.  She  had  turned  deadly  pale  and 
her  lips  were  white. 

'  What  is  it  ?  '  he  said. 

'  I  don't  know.  I  slipped  on  that  old 
stump,  and  have  wrenched  my  ankle,  I'm 
afraid.' 

'  Keep  very  still  and  I  will  see.  I  am 
used  to  sprained  ankles.' 

He  knelt  down  and  lifted  her  with  the 
utmost  tenderness  to  a  sitting  position 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

'  Now,'    he    said,    '  be    brave.       I    may 
102 


O/i,  IVhat  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

hurt  you  a  little  in  seeing  what  is  the 
matter,  but  I  will  hurt  you  as  little  as 
possible.' 

He  propped  her  foot  under  his  coat, 
and  felt  the  ankle  quickly. 

'  It  is  wrenched,  not  broken,'  he  said. 
'  I  will  try  to  give  you  a  little  ease.' 

While  he  talked  he  was  removing  her 
shoe  and  cutting  away  the  stocking  about 
her  ankle.  In  the  few  minutes  it  had 
become  very  swollen.  A  little  stream  ran 
by  the  path,  and  even  while  she  was 
wondering  at  his  quickness  and  cleverness, 
he  had  dipped  his  handkerchief  into  it  and 
made  it  into  a  cold-water  compress.  He 
then  bound  it  about  with  the  tie  he  had 
taken  from  his  neck. 

■  Better  now  ? '  he  asked,  when  he  had 
finished  these  proceedings. 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,  smiling  faintly. 

He  looked  up  at  her  for  the  first  time. 

'  By  Jove,  you  are  a  good-plucked  'un, 
as  Fred  would  say.  Not  many  women 
would  have  borne  it  as  well.' 

But  the  sprained  ankle  was  only  the 
culmination  of  Beatrice's  miseries,  and  she 

103 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

suddenly  began  to  cry,  big  heavy  tears  that 
came  silently  with  a  slow  heaving  of  her 
breast. 

1  Why,  you  poor  child  ! '  cried  Arthur, 
forgetting  everything  but  that  she  was 
young  and  in  pain,  and,  as  he  suddenly 
realised,  very  sweet  and  beautiful.  Also 
that  he  was  a  brute,  and  that  he  wished 
he  had  the  kicking  of  himself,  and  a  few 
other  things  of  the  same  sort.  He  began 
to  have  a  glimmering  sense  of  what  passion 
'  cruel  as  the  grave '  had  been  working  in 
him  since  the  first  evening  he  had  seen 
Beatrice  Challoner's  pale  face.  '  Why,  you 
poor  child  ! '  he  said,  taking  the  nervously 
twitching  hands  between  his  own.  They 
were  not  withdrawn,  and  the  girl  wept  on 
quietly,  while  he  looked  miserably  down 
upon  her. 

He  only  yielded  up  her  hands  to  her 
when  she  drew  them  away  to  dry  her  tears. 
Those  tears,  which  had  dimmed  her  beauty, 
as  tears  always  do,  despite  the  novelists, 
had  brought  out  unexpected  lines  and 
shadows  of  melancholy  about  her  sweet 
mouth    and    in    the    depths    of  her    eyes. 

104 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love 


What  had  come  to  Arthur  Strangways? 
He  looked  up  at  her  from  where  he  still 
knelt  beside  her,  and  felt  bitterly  humbled 
and  ashamed,  as  well  as  full  of  an  over- 
powering pity  which  feared  all  things  for 
her,  and  longed  to  save  her  from  all  un- 
happiness,  whatever  the  cost.  Her  beauty 
could  never  have  worked  so  magically  on 
him  as  her  helplessness  and  her  tears. 

He  let  her  cry  herself  out.  Then,  when 
she  was  once  more  tranquil,  he  spoke. 

'  We  are  quite  near  the  road.  If  we 
can  reach  it  and  wait,  some  one  is  sure  to 
pass  by  whom  we  can  send  for  help.  I 
must  get  some  kind  of  conveyance  to  carry 
you  to  Gardenhurst,  but  we  must  reach  the 
road  first.  I  shall  have  to  carry  you  there  ; 
there  is  no  other  way.' 

The  girl  turned  rosy  red,  but  made  no 
protest.  He  took  her  up  very  carefully  and 
tenderly,  and,  picking  his  way  among  the 
snags  of  forest  trees,  made  for  the  road.  It 
was  quite  near,  as  he  had  said,  but  a  difficult 
little  journey  considering  that  he  was  carry- 
ing a  grown  woman  ;  yet,  if  he  could  have 
had  his  will,  the  journey  had  been  many 

t°5 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

times  as  long.  She  kept  her  eyes  closed 
as  she  lay  against  his  shoulder,  except  when 
she  opened  them  to  assure  him  she  felt  no 
pain,  an  assurance  which  her  deadly  pale- 
ness contradicted.  Again  and  again  he 
had  to  fight  against  an  inclination  to  kiss 
her,  to  press  her  more  closely  to  him,  as  she 
lay  there  so  helplessly.  However,  he  kept 
his  head,  and  was  able  to  set  her  down 
easily  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  and  to  make 
her  as  comfortable  as  he  could  when  they 
reached  at  length  the  broad,  grassy  forest 
road. 

In  a  little  while  there  came  by  a  rustic 
bearing  faggots.  From  him  Arthur  learned 
that  there  was  a  donkey  cart  to  be  had  for 
hire,  and  near  at  hand.  Stimulated  by  a 
reward  the  man  fetched  the  little  low  cart 
and  its  steed.  The  cart  looked  inviting, 
for  it  was  filled  with  sweet-smelling  new 
grass. 

'  Now,  my  man,'  said  Arthur,  '  I  want 
you  to  find  a  picnic  party  at  Alio  Water 
and  give  them  this  message.'  He  had 
scribbled  a  few  lines  on  a  leaf  torn  from 
his   pocket-book.      '  Think    you   can   find 

106 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

them,  eh  ? '     The  man  grinned  and  nodded 
an  assent,  and  was  gone. 

*  Now,  I  am  going  to  lead  this  little 
beast  so  as  to  jolt  you  as  little  as  possible. 
We  shall  probably  be  some  time  getting 
home,  but  it  is  the  only  way.' 

'  But  your  sisters,  what  will  they  think  ? ' 

His  face  darkened  with  a  remembrance 
of  his  own  mischief-making. 

'  They  will  be  very  sorry,  and  will  hurry 
home  to  make  you  as  comfortable  as  they  can.' 

He  heaped  the  grass  in  the  donkey-cart 
so  as  to  support  her  shoulders,  and  lifted 
her  in.  For  his  sake  she  repressed  the  cry 
which  rose  to  her  lips  at  every  movement, 
deft  and  tender  as  he  was.  He  had  arranged 
his  coat  for  her  foot  to  rest  upon,  despite 
her  protests. 

'  We  shall  avoid  publicity,'  he  said,  '  for 
the  wood  gives  on  the  edge  of  Garden- 
hurst.  But  in  any  case  walking  in  my 
shirt  sleeves  is  not  more  remarkable  than 
my  leading  the  little  moke,  and  it  is  the 
pleasantest  way  of  walking  this  hot  day.' 

By  the  time  they  reached  Gardenhurst 
the  girl  was  feverish  with  pain.     Going  so 

107 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 


slowly  they  took  some  hours  to  it,  and 
Arthur  did  not  dare  quicken  the  pace. 
He  said  very  little  to  her,  though  she  was 
conscious  of  the  compassionate  gravity  of 
his  face,  and  the  incessant  watchfulness 
that  spared  her  many  jolts.  There  was  a 
great  deal  in  his  heart  to  say,  but  not  just 
at  this  moment ;  he  felt  it  was  not  the 
right  time.  However,  just  before  they  left 
the  fringes  of  the  wood  he  stopped  a  minute 
or  two  and  let  the  donkey  pick  a  mouthful 
of  sweet  grass.     Then  he  said  hurriedly  : — 

'  I  know  this  is  no  time  to  bother  you, 
but  just  let  me  say  how  bitterly  sorry  I  am 
for  having  been  such  a  brute  to  you.  Let 
me  implore  you  to  give  me  another  chance. 
I  don't  ask  you  to  forgive  me  yet,  but  to 
give  me  a  chance  of  winning  forgiveness.' 

She  smiled  at  him,  though  her  eyes 
were  bright  with  pain  and  her  cheeks 
flushed.  He  muttered  an  exclamation  of 
pity,  and  went  on  again  with  his  head  bent, 
his  eyes  watching  the  road  carefully  for 
stones  or  ruts.  When  they  reached  Garden- 
hurst  the  picnic  party  had  returned.  His 
sisters,  he  saw,  were  in  as  much  consternation 

108 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

as  if  Beatrice  Challoner  had  been  their 
dearest  friend.  He  sighed  with  relief  as 
they  came  running  down  the  steps. 

1  Good  old  girls ! '  he  said,  under  his 
breath,  '  I  might  have  trusted  them  for 
decency.' 

But  when  he  went  to  lift  Beatrice 
Challoner  from  the  donkey-cart  he  found 
her  in  a  dead  faint. 


ioy 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  remainder  of  the  week  Arthur  Strang- 
ways  took  his  punishment.  The  doctor 
called  in  to  Miss  Challoner  found  her  in  a 
high  state  of  fever,  which  was  not  likely  to 
be  allayed  for  some  days. 

'  Keep  her  quiet,'  he  said  to  Frances, 
who  was  a  devoted  nurse.  '  She  seems  so 
harassed  by  the  thought  that  she  must  leave 
this  on  Saturday  that  the  fever  is  greatly 
increased.  There  is  no  reason  that  she 
should  leave  on  Saturday,  is  there  ? ' 

'  None  at  all,'  said  Frances,  with  convic- 
tion. 

'  Because  she  is  not  at  all  likely  to  be 
able  to  move  on  Saturday,  or  for  a  good 
many  days  to  come.  It  is  fortunate  you 
are  so  hospitable  a  hostess,  Miss  Frances.' 

'  Oh,  indeed,  it  would  be  strange  if  we 
weren't  willing  to  keep  the  poor  thing  till 

I  IO 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

she  is  over  the  accident  she  met  with  in  my 
brother's  company,  and  for  which  he  blames 
himself  so  bitterly.' 

'Well,  make  her  as  happy  as  you  can, 
anyhow,  and  a  good  many  people  would  be 
happy  enough  with  her  privileges,'  said  Dr. 
Nutt,  gallantly.  Dr.  Nutt  was  credited  in 
the  neighbourhood  with  a  design  of  making 
Miss  Frances  Strangways  Mrs.  Nutt,  and 
popular  opinion  was  much  divided  as  to  the 
likelihood  of  his  ultimate  success. 

Arthur  waylaid  him  every  day  to  hear 
news  at  first  hand  of  the  patient.  He 
looked  so  conscience-stricken  that  the  good 
doctor  was  quite  impressed. 

'Don't  worry  over  it,  my  dear  young 
sir,'  he  said  kindly,  laying  a  big  capable  hand 
on  the  young  fellow's  shoulder.  '  The  lady 
will  be  all  right  in  a  few  days,  and,  so  far 
as  I  can  learn,  the  accident  might  have 
happened  in  any  one's  company.' 

The  young  man  turned  away  uncheered. 
Now  the  bitterest  part  of  his  punishment 
was  his  failure  to  undo  the  mischief  he  had 
done.  He  had  taken  the  very  first  oppor- 
tunity to  assure  his  two  sisters  that  he  be- 

1 1 1 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  hove 


lieved  every  suspicion  he  had  imparted  to 
them  of  Miss  Challoner  to  be  absolutely 
unfounded,  and  had  proceeded,  so  far  as  he 
dared  without  betraying  himself,  to  blacken 
himself  while  rehabilitating  the  lady.  But 
he  had  reckoned  without  the  conservatism, 
the  gentle  obstinacy  of  his  sisters.  They 
listened  to  all  he  had  to  say,  but  remained 
unconvinced. 

'  Dear  boy,'  said  Frances,  '  we  know 
your  good,  kind  heart.  And  it  is  natural 
for  you  to  feel  so  sorry  for  the  poor  girl 
that  you  forget  the  things  you  saw  with  your 
own  eyes,  and  opened  our  eyes  to.  But 
you  know  we  did  see  for  ourselves  at  last.' 

'  Any  one  could  have  seen  with  half  an 
eye,'  said  Sophia,  grimly.  '  And  it  is  no 
use  taking  the  girl's  part  now.' 

He  realised  that  it  was  no  use,  and 
turned  away  loathing  himself  more  bitterly 
than  ever.  His  misery  was  so  apparent 
that  it  brought  about  Duke's  forgiveness  of 
much  he  had  disliked  in  his  second  son. 
His  friendliness  was  an  additional  heaping 
of  coals  upon  the  culprit's  head.  When 
his  father  sought  him  out  for  a  stroll  after 

I  12 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

dinner  or  a  game  at  billiards,  the  young 
fellow  groaned  internally. 

'  Good  old  dad,'  he  said.  '  If  he  only 
knew  what  a  sweep  I  am,  what  a  confounded 
low  cur ! '  But  he  felt  confession  was  im- 
possible. 

He  learned  to  appreciate  his  father  in 
those  days,  when  they  strolled  up  and  down 
the  long  terrace,  or  sat  over  their  wine  to- 
gether. Duke  talked  freely,  as  if  for  the 
first  time  he  had  forgotten  to  be  afraid  of 
his  son's  caustic  wit.  His  talk  was  revela- 
tory of  his  nature,  simple,  frank,  full  of 
chivalry  and  kindness.  The  young  man 
often  looked  at  him  with  a  sickening  sense 
of  shame. 

'And  I  used  to  laugh  at  him,'  he 
thought.  '  Used  to  snigger  at  him  like 
any  low,  common  bounder.  And  what  a 
brave,  clean-minded  old  boy  he  is,  worth 
a  million  of  fellows  like  me  ! ' 

Frances  had  told  him  of  Beatrice 
Challoner's  eagerness  to  leave  Gardenhurst, 
an  eagerness  which  somewhat  puzzled  the 
good  lady,  who  was  certain  that  the  girl 
could   not  have  discovered  from  her  that 

113  « 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 


her  presence  was  unwelcome.    Indeed  it  had 
ceased  to  be  unwelcome  for  the  present,  for 
Frances  was  one  of  those  born  nurses,  to 
whom  their  patient,  for  the  time  being,  is  an 
object  of  the  most  affectionate  solicitude. 
But    the  young   man    understood.     There 
was  an  accusing  voice  within  him  that  gave 
him  no  peace,  and  would  not  be  answered. 
'  Call    yourself  a    gentleman,'    it    said, 
shrilly  ;  '  it  was  a  task  for  a  gentleman  and 
a  man  to  come  and  blacken  a  lonely  girl  to 
the  friends  she  had  made,  to  turn  her  out 
of  the  house  where  she  had  found  friend- 
ship and  happiness  into  the  lonely  world 
again.     Call  yourself  a  gentleman  indeed  ! ' 
repeated    the    voice,    with    the    withering 
sarcasm  of  a  gamin  of  the  streets. 

He  was  to  return  to  London  on  the 
Saturday,  and  as  the  days  passed,  he  found 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  speech  with  Miss 
Challoner.  Some  days  must  yet  elapse, 
said  Dr.  Nutt,  before  they  could  get  her 
downstairs  and  on  to  a  sofa.  The  feverish 
condition  of  the  girl,  who  had  a  very  sensi- 
tive nervous  organisation,  was  much  more 
difficult  than  the  sprained  ankle.     But  they 

114 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

would  hope  to  get  Miss  Challoner  back 
among  them  in  a  week  or  so. 

Fred  had  returned  to  hear  of  the 
accident  with  dismay.  His  contempt  for 
his  brother  was  refreshing. 

'  Well,  you  old  duffer,'  he  had  said,  '  if 
I  couldn't  take  better  care  of  a  lady  than  to 
break  her  ankle  when  she  went  out  walking 
with  me,  I'd  turn  monk.  I'm  hanged  if  I 
wouldn't.' 

But  on  the  Saturday  morning  there  was 
a  more  serious  reckoning.  Arthur  was 
packing  in  his  room  when  the  door  was 
flung  open,  and  his  young  brother  entered 
unceremoniously,  with  a  set-back  of  his 
shoulders  and  a  colour  in  his  cheeks  that 
showed  he  was  very  excited. 

'  What's  the  matter,  youngster  ? '  asked 
Arthur,  rather  alarmed. 

'  There's  a  jolly  good  deal  the  matter,' 
said  the  lad,  facing  him  with  flaming  eyes. 
'  What  have  you  been  sneaking  into  the 
minds  of  the  girls  about  Beatrice  Challoner  ? 
There's  that  old  silly  of  a  Sophia  just  been 
saying  that  the  sooner  the  girl's  out  of  the 
house  the  better.      "  Ask  Arthur,"  she  says. 

"5 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

"  And  what  am  I  to  ask  him  ?  "  said  I ;  "  and 
what  can  he  say  that  will  change  my  opinion 
of  the  lady  ?  "  /  put  a  stopper  on  her  ;  but 
I  saw  how  it  was.  I  felt  the  mischief  in 
the  air  the  minute  I  entered  the  house. 
Now,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself? ' 

'  Precious  little,'  said  the  other,  with  a 
grimace. 

The  boy  glared  at  him  silently  for  a 
minute.  Then  he  said,  with  fierce  de- 
liberation— 

1  Upon  my  word,  you  deserve  a  kicking, 
and  I've  a  jolly  good  mind  to  kick  you 
myself.' 

'  Oh,  get  out,  you  young  fighting-cock  ! ' 
with  a  lamentable  laugh. 

'  Upon  my  word,  I'm  ashamed  to  have 
such  a  brother  as  you.' 

'  Here,  stow  it,  Fred,  and  go  be  hanged  ! 
You've  piled  it  on  enough  for  the  present ! ' 

'  You'll  hear  more  about  it  all  the  same,' 
said  the  youth,  departing,  his  head  very 
high  in  air. 

'Oh,    Lord,'    said    Arthur,    'hadn't    I 

punishment   enough    without  Fred  adding 

his  bit  ?     What  a  plucky  young  beggar  it 

116 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

is !  and  Lord  knows  he's  right  !  If  it 
wasn't  so  ridiculous  I'd  have  asked  him  to 
come  on  and  have  taken  my  kicking  like  a 
man.' 

In  the  evening  he  departed  for  town 
sorrowfully.  A  day  or  two  later  Beatrice 
Challoner  came  downstairs,  limping  along 
with  the  aid  of  a  crutch,  and  looking  very 
pale  and  spiritless.  A  chintz-covered  sofa 
was  drawn  up  to  the  drawing-room  window, 
quite  close  to  the  path  outside,  and  within 
reach  of  the  roses.  On  this  she  was 
comfortably  installed  ;  and  it  would  be 
hard  to  say  whether  Fred  or  his  father  was 
most  devoted  in  attention  to  her.  Frances 
and  Sophia  were  also  very  kind.  As  long 
as  the  girl  was  an  invalid  and  at  their 
mercy,  their  surveillance  was  relaxed. 
Even  the  lovers  gave  up  some  of  their 
precious  time — Andrew  Fairfax's  holiday 
was  now  drawing  to  a  close — in  order  to 
entertain  her.  They  went  fruit-picking, 
ostensibly  on  her  account,  and  brought  her 
the  ripest  strawberries,  heaped  high  on  a 
cabbage  leaf,  and  surmounted  with  a  rose- 
bud,   or    the    most    luscious    white  -  heart 

117 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 


cherries.  Duke  was  always  ready  to  read 
or  talk  to  her,  while  Fred  lay  on  the  floor 
and  kicked  his  heels  with  an  abnegation  of 
his  out-door  pursuits  that  spoke  volumes 
for  his  devotion. 

Still  the  girl  was  silent  and  looked  sad. 
Still  her  anxiety  was  to  get  away  from 
Gardenhurst.  It  distressed  Duke,  who  had 
no  idea  of  all  that  had  been  happening 
under  his  nose,  and  it  enraged  the  boy,  who 
understood  very  well  and  carried  about 
with  him  an  implacable  heart  towards  the 
author  of  the  mischief. 

Every  one  was  kindness  itself,  as  she 
acknowledged  gratefully  many  times.  Even 
Mrs.  Mel  lor,  who  had  called  several  times 
to  inquire  for  the  invalid,  came  over  in  her 
pretty  victoria  to  take  her  for  a  drive  as 
soon  as  the  doctor  thought  it  well  to  give 
her  permission.  The  widow  was  a  kind- 
hearted  woman,  and  acted  quite  without 
design,  yet,  if  she  had  known,  this  thought- 
fulness  of  hers  stirred  warmer  emotions  to- 
wards her  in  Duke's  heart  than  any  number 
of  little  lures  put  out  for  himself  could  have 

done. 

118 


0/;,  What  a  Plague  is  Love 


Fred,  too,  whose  relations  with  his  elder 
sisters  were  quite  strained — he  had  called 
Sophia  '  a  juggins '  to  her  face — was  loud 
in  his  praises  of  Mrs.  Mellor  as  no  end  of 
a  jolly  good  sort. 

But  the  days  went,  and  soon  Beatrice 
was  able  once  more  to  put  her  foot  under 
her.  She  had  been  waiting  eagerly  for  this 
time  so  that  she  might  get  back  to  Albury 
House,  but  it  was  a  month  from  the  time 
of  her  accident  before  Dr.  Nutt  would  hear 
of  her  stirring. 

The  time  turned  round  to  her  last 
evening  at  Gardenhurst,  and  Duke,  who 
had  accepted  the  absence  of  hostilities  on 
the  part  of  his  family  as  a  tacit  approval  of 
his  matrimonial  schemes,  had  not  found 
time  or  opportunity  to  speak.  This  last 
evening  he  made  his  opportunity.  He 
had  got  Fred  out  of  the  way  on  an  errand, 
and  he  had  taken  the  girl  for  a  walk  in 
the  overblown  June  garden.  He  had 
been  silent  for  a  while,  but  his  silence  suited 
his  companion's  mind.  When  he  spoke 
there    was    something    in    his    voice    that 

startled  her. 

119 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love 


I  My  dear  Miss  Challoner,'  he  said,  '  I 
want  you  to  listen  to  me  patiently,  and  to 
bear  with  me  if  I  seem  to  you  over- 
presumptuous.' 

'  Yes  ? '  said  the  girl  in  a  very  low  voice. 

I I  am  an  old  man,  my  dear,  and  you  are 
a  beautiful  young  woman,  and  if  I  saw  a 
chance  of  advancing  your  happiness  in  any 
other  way  than  this  I  would  do  it,  honestly. 
You  are  young,  my  dear,  and  you  seem 
very  friendless  for  one  of  such  youth  and 
beauty.  I  wonder  whether  I  might  offer 
you  a  home  and  an  old  man's  heart,  which 
would  be  very  tender  and  faithful  to  you 
for  the  time  that  is  left  ? ' 

'  Oh,  don't,  please,'  said  the  girl,  faintly. 
'  Please  don't  talk  about  such  a  thing. 
Indeed  I  couldn't,  I  couldn't  think  of  it.' 

Duke's  eager  face  looked  piteously 
blank.  Then  he  touched  her  skirt  with  a 
hand  that  trembled  a  little. 

*  My  dear,  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said, 
very  humbly. 

Beatrice  burst  into  tears. 

'  Oh,  please,  don't  say  it  like  that,'  she 
cried.     '  You  have  been  so  good,  and  un- 


120 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

selfish,  and  kind.  I  have  always  liked  you 
so  much,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  my  fault.  I 
would  do  anything  to  show  you  how  sorry 
I  am.' 

'  Anything  but  marry  me  ! '  said  Duke. 
'Well,  don't  cry,  my  dear.  There's  no 
harm  done.  You  see  it  dazzled  an  old 
fellow  like  me  to  be  treated  as  kindly  as 
you  have  treated  me,  and  I  forgot  the 
great  gulf  of  years  that  lies  between  us. 
Well,  well !  we  must  forget  I  was  such  an 
old  fool,  and  you  must  not  punish  me  by 
withdrawing  your  friendship  from  me.' 

But  Beatrice  sobbed  uncomforted,  for 
she  felt  weak  and  out  of  sorts  still. 
Duke  waited  quietly  till  she  had  recovered 
her  self-control. 

'  And  now,  my  dear,'  he  said,  with  a 
rather  sad  smile,  '  though  you  have  refused 
me,  you  must  let  me  be  your  friend,  and 
look  after  you  a  little  till  you  meet  your 
natural  protector.  Gardenhurst  will  always 
be  glad  to  see  your  sweet  face,  and  in  any 
little  business  worry  you  must  always  come 
to  me.  Ladies  can't  be  expected  to  under- 
stand such  things.' 

121 


0//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

—  •  — 

'  You  are  too  good,'  she  said. 

'  I'm  not  a  good  business  man  myself,' 
said  Duke,  frankly.  *  But  my  boy,  Arthur, 
has  a  very  wise  head  for  so  young  a  man. 
And  a  very  good  lad,  my  dear,  a  good, 
kind  lad.  Arthur  and  I  didn't  get  on  so 
well  once  upon  a  time,  but  I  didn't  under- 
stand the  lad.  It  was  only  when  I  saw 
how  grieved  he  was  for  being  the  cause  of 
your  accident  that  I  began  to  appreciate  his 
kind  and  generous  heart.' 

After  that  they  talked  about  other  and 
indifferent  things,  Duke  doing  his  best  to 
make  the  girl  forget  that  she  had  just 
refused  him.  He  looked  with  subdued 
cheerfulness  round  the  beautiful  old  garden, 
and  at  the  gray  gables  of  the  house,  visible 
over  a  sweet-briar  hedge  in  front  of  the 
sheltered  arbour  where  they  were  sitting. 
Through  the  greenery  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Dolly's  pink  frock  where  she  walked 
with  her  lover. 

'  Ah,  well,'  he  thought,  '  love  is  for  the 
young,  and  roses  for  the  young.  I  mustn't 
be  a  discontented  old  fellow.  I've  had 
more  than  my  share  of  life's  sweets,  and 

122 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

I    must    be    making    way    for    the    young 
people.' 

'  Here  is  Fred,'  he  said  aloud.  '  He's 
become  a  prompt  messenger  since  he's 
known  that  you're  awaiting  his  return. 
Don't  turn  the  boy's  head,  my  dear ! ' 

Beatrice  laughed  in  relief.  She  had  felt 
greatly  troubled  at  hurting  the  kind,  chival- 
rous old  friend  for  whom  she  had  learnt  to 
have  a  warm  affection.  When  Fred  came 
up,  his  father,  with  some  little  jesting 
remark,  left  them.  The  lad  flung  himself 
on  the  gr^ss  beside  the  girl's  gown  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction. 

*  It's  jolly  here,'  he  said,  '  and  why  the 
dad  should  take  to  running  me  off  my  legs 
the  very  last  evening  of  your  stay,  I  can't 
make  out,  unless  that  he's  such  a  greedy 
old  boy,  and  wanted  to  absorb  you.' 

'Never  mind,  old  fellow,'  said  the  girl, 
laughing.  '  You're  back  now  anyhow,  and 
will  appreciate  my  company  all  the  more.' 

'  No,  I'm  hanged  if  I  could  do  that ! ' 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes, 
during  which  the  boy  tilted  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  and  the  girl  gazed  about  her  at  the 

123 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

garden,  feeling  she  was  having  her  last  glance 
at  its  beauties.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
that,  in  spite  of  Duke's  friendship,  she  must 
never  come  to  Gardenhurst  again. 

'  You'll  be  sorry  to  go,  Beatrice  ? '  said 
the  boy,  suddenly. 

'Very,  and  especially  to  say  good-bye 
to  you.  You've  been  a  dear  old  fellow  to 
me,  Fred.' 

The  boy  sat  up  and  gazed  at  her  very 
earnestly.  '  I'm  young,  Beatrice,'  he  began 
with  solemnity. 

'  You  are,  Fred,  there's  no  use  denying  it.' 

'  Oh,  hang  it  all,  I'm  not  so  young  as  all 
that !  There  are  lots  of  fellows  ever  so 
much  younger.  Why,  Dixon  Junior  knows 
a  fellow  who  was  married  at  my  age.' 

'  But  you're  not  thinking  of  getting 
married,  Fred  ? ' 

*  Not  just  yet,  but  later,  I  may.  It 
depends  on  you,  Beatrice' — taking  his 
courage  in  both  hands.  '  You've  no  objec- 
tion to  the  diplomatic  service  ? ' 

'  None  in  life,  dear  boy.' 

'  Because,  you  know,  I'm  intended  for  it, 
and  a  friend  of  the  dad's  has  promised  me 

J24 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

an  opening  as  soon  as  ever  I  leave  the 
'Varsity.  I'll  have  to  drop  the  'Varsity, 
I'm  afraid.  But  suppose  we  were  engaged,  I 
might  be  in  a  position  in  a  shorter  time  than 
any  one  could  expect  to  offer  you  a  home  ? ' 

'  But,  you  dear  ridiculous  boy,  you 
mightn't  be.' 

1  You  wouldn't  like  to  be  engaged 
unless  we  saw  some  prospect  of  getting 
married  ?  How  would  it  be  if  we  told  no 
one  ?  You  might  wear  an  engagement  ring 
round  your  neck,  over  your  heart,  you 
know,  lik^e  an  awfully  jolly  girl  in  a  story  I 
read  at  school.' 

'  It  wouldn't  work,  Fred,  dear,'  said  the 
girl,  keeping  back  the  laughter  she  saw 
would  hurt  him.  '  It  would  unsettle  you 
too  much.  And  I  shouldn't  like  you  to 
drop  the  University.  You  must  go  on  and 
do  well,  and  be  a  credit  to  us  all.  I  mean 
to  be  proud  of  you  as  well  as  fond  of  you.' 

'All  right,  Beatrice,  perhaps  you're 
right,'  with  a  sigh.  '  And  after  all,  though 
I  shouldn't  mind  losing  the  beastly  cram, 
I  should  like  to  be  one  of  the  'Varsity 
eleven.     You'd  feel  jolly  proud  of  me   if 

125 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

you  saw  me  making  my  centuries  and 
getting  my  blue  maybe.' 

'  I  should  feel  jolly  proud,  old  fellow.' 

'Well,  look  here,  Beatrice,  I  may  ask 
you  again  when  I'm  older,  but  anyhow 
you'll  remember  that  I'm  bound  to  be  a 
brother  to  you,  —  a  real  decent  sort  of 
brother,  you  know,  that  takes  your  part, 
and  brings  you  to  shows  and  places,  and 
knocks  down  any  fellow  that  as  much  as 
looks  at  you.' 

'  Thank  you,  dear  boy,'  said  the  girl, 
'  I'll  remember  to  apply  to  you.' 

The  boy  took  up  her  hand  and  kissed 
it  with  affectionate  gallantry.  He  looked 
grave  for  quite  two  minutes,  till  the  girl 
whispered  to  him — 

'  Don't  forget  the  University  eleven, 
Fred.' 

*  You'll  come  to  see  me  at  the  Oval  one 
day  ? '  said  the  lad,  anxiously.  '  Against 
Surrey,  you  know.  And  if  you  don't 
understand  the  game — girls  never  do — 
don't  mind  asking  me  about  any  point. 
I'll  explain  with  pleasure.' 


126 


CHAPTER    IX 

It  was  a  gray,  sad  July  evening.  Beatrice 
Challoner's  room  was  high  above  a  roaring 
slum,  which  one  would  never  suppose, 
approaching  Albury  House  from  the  front, 
to  be  anywhere  near  its  prosperous  neigh- 
bourhood. The  slum  street  was  the  play- 
ground of  the  multitude  of  children  from 
the  tall  burrows  of  houses,  an  uncomfortable 
playground  this  evening,  when  the  wind 
swept  round  corners  and  raised  the  dust 
in  little  eddies  and  whirls,  and  with  a  great 
commotion  drove  before  it  the  paper  it 
had  stripped  off  the  hoarding  round  the 
corner.  However,  the  children  made  their 
plays  contentedly  in  the  midst  of  the  dust, 
and  were  swept  up  hastily  by  stunted 
elder  sisters  when  a  jingling  hansom  came 
cheerfully  through  Seaman  Street  on  its  way 
to   more   favoured   localities.      There   was 

127 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

a  barrel-organ  grinding  out  its  abject  tune 
before  the  public-house  at  the  corner,  and 
two  or  three  dirty  little  girls  danced  to  its 
strains,  lifting  their  skirts  as  daintily  as 
any  ballerina  of  the  foot-lights.  Seaman 
Street  was  one  of  those  tireless  London 
streets  that  never  sleep. 

Though  the  evening  was  so  overcast,  it 
was  densely  hot.  Every  window  in  Seaman 
Street  gasped  for  air,  and  if  Beatrice 
Challoner  were  so  minded  she  could  have 
gazed  across  the  handbreadth  of  space 
between  into  the  melancholy  interiors. 
There,  by  one  window,  was  a  woman  sewing, 
while  her  foot  incessantly  rocked  a  cradle. 
A  young  man,  apparently  asleep,  lay  on  a 
broken-backed  couch  a  little  farther  within 
the  shadows.  It  was  the  artisan  in  the 
last  stages  of  consumption,  whose  harrowing 
night  cough  had  often  reached  her  wakeful 
ears  across  the  narrow  thoroughfare. 

By  another  window  was  a  group  of  pallid 
girls.  They  were  working  overtime  at 
making  cheap  jackets.  A  more  fortunate 
sister  high  up  in  the  attic  of  another  house 
was  attiring  herself  in  finery  before  going 

128 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

out.  One  house  was  a  laundry,  through 
the  windows  of  which,  all  day,  had  smoked 
a  fume  of  hot  soap-suds.  The  laundry- 
workers,  mostly  French,  had  departed  one 
by  one,  to  take  the  air,  or  had  been  fetched 
by  their  young  men,  very  smart  in  straw 
hats  and  flannels.  A  deaf  and  dumb  child  sat 
with  a  lonely  quietude  at  another  window, 
and  nursed  a  doll,  and  looked  down  curi- 
ously on  the  happier  children  in  the  street. 

Seaman  Street  had  been  awake  since  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  would  not 
close  its  eyes,  though  the  chemist's  shop 
and  the  public-house  both  closed  theirs  at 
a  comparatively  respectable  hour,  till  two 
hours  after  midnight.  Its  noise  and  its 
dust  came  up  to  Beatrice  Challoner's  little 
room  under  the  roof.  If  she  excluded 
these  she  excluded  her  only  chance  of  a 
mouthful  of  air.  The  dust  littered  every- 
thing. No  matter  how  she  strove  to  keep 
her  room  fresh,  the  dust  drifted  in,  first 
coating  the  window-panes,  and  then  descend- 
ing in  a  gray  film  on  bed  and  toilet-table 
and  desk  and  chair. 

This  special  July  evening  Miss  Challoner 

129  9 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

was  feeling  as  if  the  dust  had  entered  the 
pores  of  her  skin,  as  it  had  penetrated  her 
eyes  and  her  throat.  Yet  her  own  room 
was  quiet.  If  she  had  gone  downstairs  to 
the  drawing-room,  with  its  oleographs  and 
antimacassars,  and  its  general  air  of  un- 
homeliness,  she  might  have  been  pounced 
upon  by  Mrs.  Ransom,  or  the  Misses 
Fothergill,  or  old  Mr.  Nayman,  who  had 
insisted  on  teaching  her  whist  and  was  so 
cross  when  she  made  a  blunder.  The 
light  in  the  room  was  failing,  and  her 
novel  was  dull,  and  her  head  ached.  She 
longed  for  freshness  and  dews  and  scent ; 
but  since  she  could  not  have  these,  at  least 
she  would  have  her  solitude. 

A  tap  at  the  door  interrupted  her. 

'  If  you  please,  miss,'  said  Mary,  the 
parlour-maid,  '  there's  a  gentleman  for  you, 
miss,  and  I've  put  him  in  the  parlour  as 
Mrs.  Brown's  out,  and  the  drawing-room  so 
stuffy  with  all  them  old  ca — ,  ladies,  I  mean, 
miss,  over  their  books  and  cards.' 

'  Thank  you,  Mary,'  said  Beatrice,  taking 

the  card,  on  which  she  read  '  Mr.  Arthur 

Strangways.' 

130 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Mary  tripped  off  blithely  to  the  lower 
regions  to  inform  cook  and  Susan  and  John 
that  old  Mr.  Strangways'  son  as  ever  was 
had  come  visiting  Miss  Challoner.  Beatrice 
had  a  good  deal  of  sympathy,  if  she  had 
only  known  it,  from  the  domestics,  who 
found  her  sweet-spoken,  and  in  the  way  of 
giving  trouble  very  different  from  the  old 
ladies  who  formed  Mrs.  Brown's  permanent 
clientele. 

It  was  remarkable  that,  as  she  read  the 
name  on  the  card,  she  blushed  vividly,  and 
felt  a  quee£  excitement  not  wholly  pleasant 
or  unpleasant.  Whenever  she  had  thought 
of  Arthur  Strangways  since  the  day  of  her 
accident — and  she  had  thought  a  good 
many  times  —  it  was  with  conflicting 
emotions.  How  brutal,  how  cruel,  how 
unpardonable  his  conduct  had  been  in  the 
beginning  of  the  day !  How  he  had 
wronged  and  misrepresented  her,  and  put 
her  to  sore  shame  and  humiliation.  But 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  how  kind  and 
clever,  and  how  repentant  he  had  been 
after  her  accident.  She  remembered  his 
faltering    appeal    to    her    that    she   would 

131 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

forgive,  and  allow  him  to  begin  over  again. 
No,  she  could  not  hate  him,  could  not 
regard  him  as  an  enemy. 

She  waited  a  minute  or  two  in  the 
dusky  room  after  the  maid  had  left  her, 
and  then  went  downstairs  with  a  very 
slow  and  stately  step.  Her  usual  pallor 
had  returned  by  the  time  she  reached 
Mrs.  Brown's  parlour,  and  Arthur  Strang- 
ways'  first  thought  was  of  how  sadly 
beautiful  she  looked  in  the  dreary  London 
gloaming.  When  he  took  her  extended 
hand  it  felt  very  cold. 

'  You  have  been  well,'  he  said,  with 
anxious  solicitude,  '  since  you  left  Garden- 
hurst  ?  You  should  not  have  left  after  so 
short  a  convalescence.' 

Then  he  faltered  and  felt  wretchedly 
guilty,  remembering  what  it  was  that  had 
made  it  difficult  for  her  to  accept  the 
hospitality  of  his  home. 

'  I  am  quite  well,'  she  said,  gently,  '  but 
the  summer  is  very  hot  in  town,  and  I  find 
the  long  twilights  a  little  sad.' 

They  talked  on  indifferent  topics  for  a 

while.     Then  he  found  that,  difficult  as  it 

132 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

was  to  speak,  it  was  intolerable  to  spend 
the  time  in  uttering  conventionalities. 

'  Miss  Challoner,'  he  said,  impulsively, 
'  I  resolved  when  I  was  coming  here  this 
evening  to  tell  you  how  bitterly  sorry  I 
have  been  for  my  conduct  to  you.  It  was 
not  alone  the  accident,  but  all  that  went 
before.  I  wish  to  heavens  I  had  broken  a 
limb  myself.  It  was  I  who  stood  in  need 
of  punishment.' 

'  You  were  very  unjust  to  me,'  said  the 
girl,  simply  ;  but  somehow  the  words 
sounded  more  like  a  pardon  than  an 
accusation. 

'  Beatrice,  Beatrice  !  '  cried  the  young 
man,  wildly.  '  Don't  you  understand  it  ? 
Put  me  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  if  you  will, 
after  I  have  spoken,  but  let  me  speak  now. 
Don't  you  know  it  was  because  I  loved 
you  from  the  first  minute  I  set  eyes  on  your 
beauty  ?  That  it  was  because  I  was  mad 
with  jealousy  of  you,  and  rage  against  your 
contempt  of  me  ?  I  was  a  brute,  an  un- 
speakable brute,  but  it  was  the  brutality  of 
a  man  towards  the  woman  he  loves,  and 
who  stands  out  against  him.' 

*33 


0//,  PVhat  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

He  stopped  and  tried  to  see  what 
expression  was  in  her  averted  face,  but  the 
room  was  full  of  shadows. 

'  You  are  not  angry,  Beatrice  ? '  he  said. 

'  No,'  she  replied,  very  low  ;  '  but  you 
are  too  sudden.' 

'  Is  that  all,  my  queen  ? '  he  said,  laugh- 
ing out  of  his  excitement  and  happy  relief. 
'  Then  I  will  give  you  time  to  get  used  to 
me.  I  will  go  by  little  steps.  I  will  not 
ask  you  now  to  love  me,  but  only  to  forgive 
me,  and  let  me  start  with  a  fair  chance.' 

'  I  have  forgiven  you,'  she  said.  '  I 
forgave  you  that  day  of  my  accident,  when 
you  took  care  of  me.' 

He  wondered  at  her  calm.  Another 
girl  would  have  been  all  blushes  and 
tremors,  but  somehow  he  did  not  feel  that 
the  calm  boded  ill  for  his  success. 

'  But  I  have  something  to  forgive  you,' 
he  said  again.  '  Why  did  you  not  come  to 
tea  with  me  that  evening  I  asked  you  and 
Dolly?' 

'  I  did  not  believe  you  could  care.  I 
thought  you  only  asked  me  to  satisfy 
yourself.' 

134 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

'  Care !  Why,  the  hour  I  spent  listen- 
ing for  your  footstep  on  the  stairs  was  an 
hour  of  purgatory  ;  and  afterwards  I  hoped 
you  would  write.' 

'  I  tried  to,  but  I  did  not  know  what 
to  say.' 

'  Presently  I  am  going  to  forgive  you. 
Not  yet  though,  not  till  you  have  learned 
to  love  me.' 

She  made  no  reply.  Neither  of  them 
thought  of  the  conventions,  or  of  what 
Mrs.  Brown  would  think  if  she  came  in 
and  found  them  sitting  in  a  room,  the  dusk 
of  which  the  horn  of  the  summer  moon 
did  little  to  illumine. 

'  You  will  have  to  learn  your  lesson 
soon,  Beatrice,  and  give  me  your  answer 
soon.  I  can't  leave  you  in  Mrs.  Brown's 
all  during  the  summer.' 

'What  would  they  think  at  Garden- 
hurst  ? ' 

It  was  his  turn  to  blush,  and  he  blushed 
ingenuously. 

'  They  will  love  you,  as  they  were  ready 
to  do  before.' 

'  But  your  father  ?  ' 
'35 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

There  was  a  troubled  note  in  her 
voice  which  revealed  how  things  stood  to 
him. 

'  Dear  old  dad,  he  will  be  resigned  after 
a  time.  He  is  the  dearest  old  fellow, 
Beatrice  ;  I  never  knew  how  dear  till  after 
your  accident.' 

'  Yes,  there  is  no  one  like  him,'  said  the 
girl,  simply. 

'  Did  you  know  that  Fred  offered  to 
kick  me  ? — I  jolly  well  deserved  it — as  your 
champion.' 

'  Dear  boy  ! '  with  a  sudden,  sweet  laugh. 
'  He  proposed  to  me,  though  I  don't  know 
if  I  ought  to  betray  his  confidence.  Offered 
even  to  give  up  the  'Varsity  and  his  chance 
of  a  blue  for  my  sake.' 

'  Impudent  young  beggar !  What  did 
you  say  ? ' 

'  Put  before  him  what  he  was  resigning 
for  my  sake,  whereupon  he  faltered,  and 
was  in  his  inmost  heart  relieved  that  for 
prudential  motives  I  declined.' 

'  I  daresay  he'll  want  to  kick  me  again 
for  all  that  when  he  knows.' 

He  looked  keenly  at  her  glimmering 
136 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

profile.  Then  he  laughed  triumphantly 
and  suddenly. 

'  Beatrice,  Beatrice  ! '  he  cried,  '  do  you 
know  that  you  as  well  as  I  seem  to  take 
everything  for  granted?  For  ten  minutes 
back  we  have  talked  as  if  you  had  not  yet 
your  lesson  to  learn.  Have  you  learnt  it, 
Beatrice?  And  if  not,  will  you  not  learn 
it  now  ?  Don't  keep  me  an  hour  out  of 
Paradise.' 

'  You  will  think  I  am  too  facile,'  she 
said,  coming  to  him  as  willingly  as  any 
lover  coulfl  desire. 


*37 


CHAPTER   X 

The  Arthur  Strangways  who  arrived  at  the 
station  for  Gardenhurst  one  evening  about 
a  month  later  was  a  very  different  person 
from  the  young  gentleman  who  had  come 
down  that  June  Saturday  bent  on  making 
everybody  as  uncomfortable  as  possible. 
This  was  a  beamy,  sunshiny,  jolly-looking 
youth,  who  had  excited  the  kindly  admira- 
tion of  half  a  dozen  matrons  on  the  little 
run  between  Victoria  and  Oxenden.  Still 
the  joyousness  of  his  expression  was  not 
quite  uncomplicated.  Any  one  watching 
his  rapid  changes  of  expression  as  he  sat 
smoking  his  very  excellent  cigar,  and  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  at  the  Kentish  hop 
gardens  as  they  sped  swiftly  by,  would  have 
detected  very  often  a  half-comic  look  of 
perplexity,  as  if  the  young  gentleman  were 

138 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

in  rather  an  amusing  fix,  and  did  not  quite 
see  his  way  to  getting  out  of  it. 

He  was  not  expected  at  Gardenhurst, 
and  when  he  had  alighted  at  Oxenden 
Station  he  refused  cheerily  the  offer  of  the 
porter  to  run  up  his  bag  for  him  on  the 
truck. 

'  I'm  well  able  to  carry  it,  Simmons,'  he 
said,  '  and  it  will  keep  the  muscles  in 
training.' 

'  Ay,  ay,  Master  Arthur,'  said  Simmons, 
who  had  known  him  from  childhood ; 
'  and  may  it  be  long  before  you're  a  heavy- 
weight yourself,  sir.  The  squire's  been  up 
to  town  to-day.  Came  down  on  the  4.15, 
and  the  lady  from  the  Pines,  who  was  here 
after  a  parcel  when  the  train  came  in,  gave 
him  a  lift.  Fine  healthy  gentleman,  the 
squire,  sir.  He  takes  the  road  any  day  of 
the  week  just  like  yourself.' 

'  Well,  good  evening,  Simmons,'  said 
Arthur,  cutting  short  the  garrulous  porter. 
'  Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Simmons.  I  trust 
she  and  the  kids  are  well.' 

'C)uite  well,  sir,  thank  'ee.'  And  then 
to  himself,  admiringly,  as  Arthur  swung  up 

'39 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  hove  ! 

the  road — '  That's  a  fine  pleasant  spoken 
young  gentleman.  The  very  moral  of  the 
squire  as  ever  was.' 

Presently  Arthur  turned  into  a  grass- 
grown  bridle-path  by  the  wood's  edge, 
where  the  pheasants  scurried  from  under 
his  feet  as  he  walked.  Here,  where  no 
one  saw  him  but  the  birds,  he  put  down 
his  bag  for  a  few  minutes  and  leant  against 
the  bole  of  a  beech-tree.  There  he  in- 
dulged in  a  fit  of  laughter  so  hearty  that 
it  made  the  tears  run  down  his  face. 

'  Here  am  I,'  he  said  aloud, '  the  happiest 
beggar  in  the  world,  but  in  the  extraordinary 
fix  of  having  to  tell  my  father  I've  stolen 
a  march  on  him.  It's  rough  on  the  poor 
dad,  so  it  is.  Only  I  believe  Mrs.  Mellor 
will  comfort  him.  And  there's  Fred.  What 
will  Fred  do  ?  Carry  out  his  threat  of 
kicking  me  most  likely.  By  Jove,  I  wish 
I'd  broken  it  to  them,  so  I  do.' 

He  looked  down  soberly  at  the  bag 
at  his  feet. 

'  Oh,  I  say,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  better 
be  getting  it  over  ;  then  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  laugh  ;  but  you're  in  for  a  bad 

140 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

quarter  of  an  hour  most  likely,  my  fine 
fellow.  However,  it's  all  in  the  day's  work 
for  Beatrice,  my  peerless  Beatrice.  Here, 
come  on  ' — to  his  bag — *  I  won't  have  more 
than  time  to  dress  as  it  is.' 

But  as  he  shouldered  the  bag  he  became 
aware  of  Fred  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
path,  and  gloomily  regarding  him. 

'  Oh,  Lord,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  The 
fun's  going  to  begin  !  '  Then  aloud, 
'  Hullo,  youngster !  Not  gone  back  to 
school  yet  ?  Pheasants  seem  pretty  lively, 
eh  ?   And  how  are  the  dad  and  the  sisters  ?  ' 

But  the  boy  still  kept  up  his  implacable 
look. 

'  What,  not  forgiven  me,  Fred  ?  I 
thought  we  were  going  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones.' 

'I  thought  it  was  you,'  said  the  boy, 
stonily.  '  No  one  else  would  be  making 
a  laughing  jackass  of  himself  in  the  midst 
of  the  wood.' 

1  Hang  it  all,  youngster,  don't  be  so 
unfriendly.' 

'  I'll  be  a  deuced  sight  more  unfriendly. 
I  haven't  forgotten  Miss  Challoner  as  easily 

141 


Ohy  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

as  you  seem  to  have  done.  Have  you 
come  back  for  that  kicking  ?  Because  it's 
been  saving  up  for  you.' 

'  Don't  kick  me,  boy  ;  she  wouldn't  like 
it.' 

'  She  ?  Who  is  she  ?  Not  Miss 
Challoner  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Miss  Challoner.' 

1  You  haven't  seen  her?' — incredulously. 

'  I  have,  and  she's  forgiven  me.' 

'  She  told  you  so  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'Well,  of  all  the  mean,  low  sweeps!  to 
go  getting  round  a  girl  like  that.  And  I 
wanted  to  do  something  for  her  sake, 
because  I  somehow  let  her  slip  through  my 
fingers  when  she  was  here.  Let  her  think 
I  set  her  below  cricket,  and  no  girl  likes 
to  think  a  fellow  does  that.  Did  she 
say  anything  about  me  ? ' 

Fred's  curiosity  was  getting  the  better 
of  his  enmity. 

'  Lots.     Said   you    were    the   decentest 

boy  alive,  and  a  lot  of  other  things  which 

I'll  tell  you  presently.     Well,  are  we  going 

to  be  friends  ? ' 

142 


0/z,  IV hat  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'I  suppose  so,'  said  the  boy.  'If  the 
Jady  has  forgiven  you,  there's  no  quarrel 
left  for  me  to  take  up,  is  there  ?  ' 

'  Clearly  not.  And  now,  take  a  turn 
at  the  bag,  dear  old  fellow.' 

The  rest  of  the  walk  was  purely  amicable, 
though  Arthur  remembered  once  or  twice 
with  a  qualm  that  Fred  did  not  yet  know 
the  extent  of  his  perfidy.  However,  Fred 
was  clearly  not  the  first  person  to  be  told. 

After  dinner,  his  father,  with  the  new- 
born affection  which  had  sprung  up  between 
them,  came  and  put  his  hand  on  Arthur's 
shoulder. 

'  Come  and  smoke  out  of  doors,  my  boy  ; 
it  is  a  shame  to  sit  under  the  mahogany  on 
such  an  evening.' 

Arthur  followed  his  father  to  the  terrace, 
with  a  sense  that  the  evil  hour  could  not 
much  longer  be  postponed.  After  they 
had  chosen  and  lit  their  cipars  they  began 
pacing  up  and  down.  Duke  seemed  dis- 
tressed. When  Arthur  began  discussing 
some  of  the  affairs  of  the  estate,  he  waived 
it  off  as  he  might  have  done  a  gnat. 

'  To-morrow    morning,    dear    boy,    you 
•43 


0/z,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

can    put    me    through    my    facings.     Not 
now.      I  prefer  to  talk  of  other  things.' 

'  The  deuce  you  do,'  said  the  young 
man  to  himself.  '  Well,  it's  no  use  shivering 
on  the  brink.  Here  goes  for  the  plunge!' 
He  drew  a  long  breath  and  began — 

'  Dad.' 

4  Yes,  my  boy.' 

'  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  some- 
thing on  your  mind  ?  ' 

'  I  do  indeed,  my  boy,' — with  extreme 
sympathy. 

'  Dad,  do  you  know  I've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  women,  while  they  cause  us 
our  greatest  happiness,  put  us  into  more 
awkward  corners  than  any  other  thing 
whatsoever  in  this  world  ?  ' 

'  Quite  true,  my  lad,'  said  Duke,  with 
conviction. 

*  Dad,  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  change 
your  mind  utterly,  shamelessly,  hopelessly, 
about  a  woman  ?  To  desire  passionately 
this  month  what  you  decried  last,  to  find 
that  your  happiness  really  lay  in  what  had 
seemed  your  bane  ?  Do  you  know  what 
it  is  to  make  a  volte-face  like  that  ? ' 

144 


Ohy  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

'  I  do,  my  lad,  too  well.  But  how  did 
you  know  ? ' 

'  Know  what  ? ' 

1  That  Susan  Mellor  has  consented  to 
make  me  the  happiest  man  alive.' 

The  young  man  opened  his  mouth  to 
peal  out  a  roar  of  Homeric  laughter,  but 
fortunately  remembered  in  time,  and  pulled 
hard  at  his  cigar  instead. 

'  Dear  old  dad  !  I'm  so  glad.  Why,  it's 
the  ideal  arrangement.' 

'  I'm  delighted  that  you  think  so,  dear 
boy,'  breathed  Duke,  evidently  vastly 
relieved. 

'  And  the  girls  ?   How  do  they  take  it  ? ' 

'  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  haven't 
told  the  dear  girls  yet.  1  hope  they'll 
take  it  kindly  because  it's  got  to  be. 
Why,  I've  the  wedding-ring  in  my  pocket. 
I  went  up  to  Streeter's  to-day  and  bought 
that  at  the  same  time  as  a  hoop  of  sapphires 
and  diamonds  for  her  dear  finger.  She 
met  me  at  the  station  and  drove  me  here. 
She  was  as  pleased  with  her  new  ring  as  if 
she  were  only  seventeen.' 

'  You're  not  going  to  do  anything  rash, 
145  10 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  hove  ! 


dad — no  runaway  matches  or  anything  of 
that  sort  ? ' 

'  Well,  we  thought  of  a  special  license, 
and  doing  the  thing  out  of  hand.  It  would 
be  pleasanter  if  the  girls  cut  up  rough.' 

'  They  won't,  take  my  word  for  it. 
I'll  see  that  they  don't.' 

'  I'll  be  glad  to  have  your  presence  and 
support  when  I  announce  it,  Arthur.' 

'  You  needn't,  dear  old  dad.  You  just 
walk  across  and  see  your  sweetheart.  I 
daresay  she's  waiting  for  you,  if  one  only 
knew.  You'll  find  them  ready  with  kisses 
and  hugs  of  congratulation  when  you 
come  back.' 

'  You  think  so,  my  lad  ?  Well,  God 
bless  you.  You're  a  good,  kind-hearted 
lad.  Susan  did  say  she'd  expect  me  to  look 
in  after  dinner.  By  the  way,  the  thing 
that  makes  me  feel  awkward' — Duke 
blushed  like  a  school-girl  — '  is  that  the 
girls  may  think  me  a  little,  ahem,  inconstant, 
because  of  my  infatuation  for  that  sweet 
girl,  Miss  Challoner.  I  see  now  the  folly 
of  it,  but  when  she  refused  me  I  was  really 
cut  up,  deucedly  cut  up,  I  can  tell  you.' 

146 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

'  Poor  old  dad  ! ' 

'  I  don't  think  you  quite  appreciated 
Miss  Challoner,  my  boy  ;  but  I  assure  you 
that  lady  was  as  good  as  she  was  beautiful. 
Susan  has  promised  to  be  kind  to  her  when 
we're  married.  Susan's  a  woman  in  ten 
thousand.  No  petty  jealousy  or  little- 
mindedness  about  her.' 

'  Well,  now,  dad,  that  you've  made  your 
confession,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  mine.' 

'  Your  confession,  my  boy  !  What  can 
you  have  to  confess  ?  Why,  not  one  of 
you  ever,  gave  me  a  minute's  trouble  from 
the  time  you  were  born.' 

'Well,  the  truth  is,  dad,  that  I've  been 
seeing  a  good  deal  of  Miss  Challoner  in 
town.  I  thought  I  ought  to,  you  know, 
after  spraining  her  poor  little  ankle  through 
my  fault.     And  the  result  is ' 

'  No  ! '  unbelievingly. 

'  The  result  is,  dad,  that  I  came  down 
to-day  to  break  the  intelligence  to  you  that 
we've  agreed  to  take  each  other  for  good 
and  all.' 

'  You  have,  hey,  you  sly  young  dog ! 
And  I've  been  thinking   I   had   behaved  in 

i47 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

a  deuced  ungentlemanly  way  to  the  young 
lady  in  consoling  myself  so  soon,  and 
been  calling  myself  no  end  of  fickle 
dogs.' 

'  Dad  ! '  said  the  young  fellow,  emphati- 
cally, '  I  think  there's  a  pair  of  us.' 

Duke  burst  out  laughing  in  a  way  that 
proved  the  relationship  between  him  and 
his  laughter-loving  son.  When  he  had 
somewhat  recovered  he  was  pushed  down 
the  terrace  steps  to  carry  his  wonderful 
news  to  Mrs.  Mellor. 

Arthur  went  into  the  house,  still  chuck- 
ling, by  the  long  drawing-room  windows. 
He  found  his  sisters  in  the  room,  and  sat 
down,  selecting  the  most  comfortable  chair 
with  unerring  masculine  instinct. 

'  Arthur,'  said  Frances,  gravely,  '  I'm 
glad  you've  left  the  dad  outside,  for  there's 
something  on  my  mind,  on  Sophia's  mind 
too,  though  not  on  dear  Doll's,  for  she 
wouldn't  have  agreed  with  us  even  if  she'd 
known  anything  about  it.' 

'  Oh,  Lord,'  said  the  young  fellow, 
'  more  confessions  !  ' 

1  A  confession  that  involves  you  as  well 
148 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

as  us,'  Frances  went  on.  '  You  remember 
all  you  said  to  us  about  that  Miss  Challoner 
in  June  ? ' 

'  Don't  remind  me  of  it.' 

'  But  I  must,  for,  as  it  proved,  we  were 
all  wrong.  Why,  the  dad  proposed  to  her 
before  she  left,  and  she  refused  him  point- 
blank.  He  owned  up  after  she  had  gone, 
when  he  found  what  we  had  got  in  our 
heads.  And  I'm  very  much  afraid  the 
poor  girl  guessed  our  suspicions,  for  she 
was  so  anxious  to  be  gone,  and  we've  heard 
neither  tide  nor  tidings  of  her  since  she  left. 
Now,  Sophia  and  I  have  been  wretched 
over  the  injustice  we  did  her,  and  we  have 
been  wondering  whether  we  could  induce 
her  to  come  back  to  us,  and,  if  so,  whether 
it  would  be  quite  safe  to  have  her.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  safe  ?  ' 

'  Well,  she  might  change  her  mind  about 
the  dad.' 

'  Devil  a  bit  of  it  !  Mrs.  Mellor'll 
see  to  that.  At  the  present  moment  the 
dad  has  got  his  wedding-ring  wrapped  up 
in  tissue-paper  in  his  left  waistcoat  pocket, 
unless,    indeed,    he's    trying    it    on     Mrs. 

149 


O//,  What  a  Plague  is  Love  ! 

Mellor's  finger,  which  is  likely  enough,  as 
he's  gone  over  there.' 

'You're  jesting,  Arthur,'  broke  from 
three  pairs  of  feminine  Jips. 

'  Never  was  more  serious  in  my  life. 
And  if  you'll  take  my  advice,  and  are 
anxious  to  prevent  the  scandal  of  an  elope- 
ment at  the  dad's  age,  you'll  just  tell  him 
you're  delighted  when  he  comes  back  this 
evening.' 

'Well,  after  all,  it  might  be  very  much 
worse,'  said  Sophia,  emphatically  ;  and  after 
a  time  all  three  sisters  were  ready  to  put 
aside  their  prejudices  in  the  matter,  and 
accept  Mrs.  Mellor,  the  more  so  as  she  had 
her  own  big  house  close  at  hand,  and  was 
not  likely  to  desire  a  transference  of  her 
kingdom  to  Gardenhurst. 

'  By  the  way,'  added  Arthur,  when  the 
hubbub  had  somewhat  subsided,  '  there  is  a 
second  reason  for  your  minds  being  at 
rest  about  Miss  Challoner.  She's  already 
engaged,  and  to  me.  We  hope  to  bring  it 
off  on  the  same  day  that  Dolly  becomes 
Mrs.  Fairfax.  We'd  better  have  the  dad 
and  Mrs.  Mellor  the  same  day,  and  Hubert 

150 


Oh,  What  a  Plague  is  Love ! 

can  come  down  from  Oxford  and  give  us 
all  away.' 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  night  descended  at  Gardenhurst  on 
a  general  peace.  Even  Fred  had  come  and 
offered  Arthur  slightly  sullen  congratula- 
tions. 

'  It's  a  woman's  privilege  to  change  her 
mind,  I  know,'  he  said  ;  '  but  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  cricket  it's  not  you  would  be 
the  happy  man  to-night.' 


THE    END 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  Clark,  Limitkd,  Edinburgh 


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